


Just Cause

by StephOBrien



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Murder, Suicide, Swearing, Time Travel, Torture, Undertale Genocide Route, Undertale Pacifist Route, non-explicit discussions of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StephOBrien/pseuds/StephOBrien
Summary: A time-traveling human immortal is carving a swath of death through the Underground. Yet despite their resolve to destroy everyone in their path, their stats are unnaturally low, and hesitation weighs on their every movement.Sans, the skeleton warrior-scientist, must find a way to stop them, even as half-vanished memories whisper that this murderer used to be his friend.
Relationships: Alphys/Undyne (Undertale), Original Character x Original Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Looking For a Bad Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is the written fanfic version of my ongoing webcomic of the same name. If you want to read this story in comic form, you can do so at the following links:
> 
> My website: http://www.stephanieobrienbooks.com/undertale---just-cause.html  
> DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/stephobrien/gallery/66676093/Just-Cause-Comic  
> Tumblr: https://stephobrien.tumblr.com/post/150361825106/so-im-finally-doing-it-im-taking-the-plunge

_Timeline 4_

“A-are you sure you w-want to do this?”

The cold white light of the computer’s screen draped the room in frigid, lifeless shades, like a sheet laid callously over a body that still housed a fading soul.

Its sterile caress traced the edges of small, slumped shoulders and the back of a half-bowed head, and Alphys had to fight the urge to grab them, hold them, and keep the person inside that frame from walking to his death.

Not that any of them seemed likely to survive, if the chart on the screen was accurate.

At the sound of the scientist’s trembling voice, the whisper of soft pink slippers against tile slowed to a halt, and the timeline monitor’s deathly light flickered in Sans’ large eye sockets as they turned to meet Alphys’ eyes.

As always, he was smiling. She doubted he was capable of doing otherwise, yet while his ever-present grin didn’t move, the dread behind it was tangible. “Not really.”

Not really, and yet even as his face had turned toward her, his small body remained pointed at the exit.

As if noticing that she’d noticed, he glanced away, forcing his eyes to join his mouth in a smile that held only a struggling memory of humor. “Heh. Come on, you know me – I like to take it easy. Fighting a person who can take on Undyne and win, and retry an infinite number of times... sounds an awful lot like work.”

The smile in his eyes fell away, and the thin bone sheaths that passed for eyelids slipped closed. “But there’s something off about this kid. I mean, besides the whole ‘murderous rampage’ thing. Their stats don’t make sense. They never wear armor. And something about the look on their face...”

The echo of an earlier conversation swirled through Alphys’ aching head, a flash of hopeful color like the sparks that rose from Hotland’s magma pits, and she almost managed a smile of her own. “You think you can get through to them?”

Sans’ stare drifted to the TV, where a small figure in a striped shirt was limping slowly across the walkway that led to the Last Corridor. The human child didn’t seem to be injured, but exhaustion lay heavily on every movement, and Alphys couldn’t help but think that their expression seemed strained, as if fighting for neutrality through a haze of ill-concealed pain.

“Maybe. Who knows.”

Sans’ voice reclaimed Alphys’ attention, and he finally turned to face her fully, the struggle in the human’s face mirroring itself in his cheerful facade as he continued.

“There is a chance that they’re doing this out of boredom. They got power over the timeline, started messing around, and eventually decided that their toys weren’t fun enough when they played nice.”

_Toys._

The simple word hit like a sledgehammer, and Alphys’ teeth ground together as a fierce toothy smile, a pair of strong hands, and a warm yellow stare gleamed in the eye of her trembling mind.

A person who had always supported her and made her feel special, even when she didn’t deserve it, melting and crumbling into dust at the hands of a bored child.

A hero reduced to a plaything, to be wounded or killed at the whim of a creature too powerful to stop.

_And now Sans is... is... is still talking._

“But tibihonest, I don’t think that’s the case. They don’t look like they’re having fun. Whatever’s got them so determined to kill us, I don’t think it’s just boredom. Heh...”

Once again, his eyes fell closed. “Papyrus thought he could get them to change, just by being nice. And maybe I’m an idiot for thinking that he might not have been entirely wrong.

“Who knows... maybe if he’d been able to find the kid’s problem, instead of just throwing niceness around blindly, it might’ve worked. Either way, I have to try.

“If they DON’T have a good reason, maybe I can give them a bad enough time that they decide it just isn’t worth dying for nothing anymore. And if they do, and I can find it... well... do I have any choice, other than giving it a shot?”

Yellow claws twisted together, nervousness knotting them into a restless tangle of scales and stress. “Y-you could wait for the human to reach A-Asgore. He’s absorbed the s-souls; he...”

As she trailed off, Sans’ eye sockets fell closed. “He probably fought them in other timelines. Either he forced them to reset, which would bring me back to life anyway, or he lost, in which case, I need to give them a fight that they hopefully haven’t already won. If nothing else, maybe I can at least tire them out a bit, soften them up enough that Asgore can prevent... this.”

His words turned Alphys’ train of thought from one screen to another, from the video feed of the murderous child’s present location to the records of their future and past.

Endless zigzags, some offscreen ones manifesting as vast backward leaps following long forward stretches, while the ones currently visibly jumped wildly back and forth in a space of minutes or seconds – the former a chain of unexplained resets, and the latter theorized to be the product of a time traveler’s repeated death.

And then, less than half an hour after their current point in time, it ended.

All of it.

A simple line on a chart that so inadequately symbolized the lives and hopes of everyone she knew, suddenly vanishing forever.

The soft sound of cardboard sliding against cardboard drew Alphys’ attention to her friend’s fuzzy mittens, and she watched in confusion as he carefully, almost reverently opened the present that had been protruding from his pocket ever since he entered the room.

He lifted the lid, and a tag swayed at the end of a short string, the name “Papyrus” flashing briefly into view before he slid the piece of cardboard into his other pocket.

Reaching into the box, he gently withdrew two small figures: a heavily armored blue fish, and an outlandishly dressed skeleton. The former sent a spear through Alphys’ racing heart, and Sans held the action figure carefully as he stepped toward her.

“Here.” Placing the small plastic Undyne in Alphys’ shaking claws, he slipped the miniature Papyrus into the right pocked of his hoodie. “To remind us what we’re fighting for.”

For a moment, Alphys stared mutely at the toy, the last tiny remnant of the woman she loved. Her heart seemed to wedge itself as a painful lump in her throat, and it took several tries and a few swallows to regain her voice.

“Thank you,” she whispered, raising eyes that glistened with tears toward... the place where Sans had been standing a second ago.

The place where he no longer was.

Her eyes snapped up to the human’s monitor, and her heart fell from her throat to plummet through her churning gut.

The child had entered the Last Corridor. Their small, innocuous, yet frighteningly powerful form was all but lost amid the size and splendor of the hall, but their fingers were wrapped firmly around the hilt of an old, worn dagger.

Eyes down, expression flat, they came to a halt, and Alphys’ pulse followed the human’s lead as her eyes found the source of their hesitation: an equally small, slumped figure, standing resolutely in their path.

“Heya. You’ve been busy, huh?”

Trembling claws tightened desperately around the plastic Undyne, and with her eyes fixed on the monitor, Alphys didn’t see the lurking form that poked up through the floor in the hall: a round, wary white face, surrounded by petals of sunny gold.

For a moment, the flower stared at the monitors, silently absorbing their grim report.

Then he slipped back into the ground, and vanished from sight.

~*~*~*~

It was amazing how much fear, hope and anxiety a simple plastic action figure could inspire.

As his fingers closed around the Papyrus in his hoodie’s pocket, Sans felt the pulse of his magic quicken. _He’s counting on me. He doesn’t know it, but if I win… if I can get the human to reset... he’ll come back to life._

_And if I lose…_

His fingers clenched, as if holding on tighter could bring back the dead, or a fierce enough grasp could symbolically crush the threat that loomed over them. _If I lose this fight, then I’ll have failed one of the few reasons I had to keep trying._

_So, let’s see what I have to work with._

A few feet away from him, the human had shambled to a halt, their dead, eerie face fixed on him, but their nearly-closed eyes turned subtly toward the ground. Unable to meet his steady stare, and burned by an emotion carefully concealed by a wholly inadequate mask.

To anyone else, the guilt in their expression might have been invisible. To Sans, it was nearly a scream.

_Whatever they’re feeling, it isn’t enough to stop them, but maybe I can work with it._

“So, I’ve got a question for ya.” The warrior in him wanted to keep an eye on the dagger, but his inner tactician insisted instead on seeking data in his opponent’s face. “Do you think even the worst person can change? That everyone can be a good person, if they just try?”

No answer came from their tightly-closed lips, but he could still see it: a subtle tension in their shoulders, a tightening in their jaw and in their grip on the weapon. Their guilt flared a little stronger, but there was something else... _Reluctance? Uncertainty?_

_...Resentment?_

_...Hate?_

The expression was deeply unnerving, but Sans had had altogether too much practice in pretending to be all right when almost nothing was. The chuckle he forced from his chest sounded as natural as it was humorless and grim.

“Heh heh heh heh... all right. Well, here’s a better question. Do you wanna have a bad time? ’Cause if you take another step forward, you are REALLY not going to like what happens next.”

Now that was strange. They still weren’t answering him, but a flicker of dread crossed their face, as if…

A horrible chill went thundering down his back, like an avalanche of ice through his spine and chest. _That expression..._ _Do they already know what I’m capable of? Have they seen it before?_

_Have I already as good as lost this fight?_

_No... I can’t have already lost. They aren’t looking forward to this, I can tell._

_But if that’s the case, then... why do they look like they’ve just found something they’ve been looking for for a long time?_

The smile they were putting on their face was fake – he suspected that even Alphys would be able to see that. But amid all the guilt and regret, something inside them was vaguely… he couldn’t say ‘pleased’, but… relieved?

_That isn’t the look of someone who’s happy about what’s happening, but... Is there something coming after this that they’re looking forward to? Something they really want, coming just after this fight?_

_Are they really just that happy about ending the world?_

_Welp… if they do step forward, I’ll just have to give them something to be unhappy about._

He hadn’t expected his words to deter them. And yet, as they took that defiant step toward him, he couldn’t help but feel... disappointed. Maybe even betrayed.

And now he would have to commit a betrayal of his own. “Welp. Sorry, old lady.”

The child’s smile faltered slightly, and their grip on the knife trembled. But even as the glowing gossamer lines of the battle box began to spread from Sans’ feet, his opponent didn’t back off, and he strongly suspected that they never would.

_Maybe I can reach them in mid-battle. Maybe not. Either way..._

“This is why I never make promises.”

_I don’t think I can afford to hold back._

~*~*~*~

Even after all these timelines, it still felt strange to feel time shift backward without needing to die to make it happen.

Normally, there would be pain, and the feeling of his tiresome floral form dissolving around the hollow tangle of thoughts and half-felt emotions that should have been a soul.

Normally, there would be a feeling of falling, of drifting away from the world, and the knowledge that if the burning grasp of his artificially injected determination would just let go for an instant, he could finally be free of the lonely, exhausting swirl of gray that was the life of the soulless undead.

The first time he’d found himself unable to find a save point, the pulse of his magic had quickened with excitement. And the first time Frisk had reloaded a save, exploiting the power they’d stolen from him, the feeling had been glorious. The newness, the fresh cornucopia of unpredictability in a world long gone stale, had intoxicated him to the point of obsession.

But now, as the blinding flare of Sans’ blaster gave way to the lightless void of the Save Screen, and the Screen dissolved into the gray exterior of New Home, Flowey found himself unable to savor the novelty as he once had.

Now, his obsession was pointed elsewhere, and he needed to make sure that the being at the center of it stayed on track.

The human child was stumbling now, unable to make the rapid switch from the wild movements of combat to the motions they’d been performing when they last created a save point.

The transition from a frantic dash to a slow, resigned march hit them like an invisible hand, knocking the rhythm of their steps into an awkward stagger, and from his position in the front garden, Flowey heard them gasp quietly.

A small sigh slid from a body that shouldn’t have been able to produce one, and the flower briefly closed his eyes. “I told you.”

Frisk jolted, glancing at him like a dazed jaywalker noticing an oncoming car for the first time. “W-what?” they asked, their unsteady voice matching their gait as they stumbled to a halt. “You mean about Sans?”

Well, that too, but that part had been inevitable. This, on the other hand... “No. I told you not to save while you were in mid-step. One of these times, you’re going to fall on your face.”

“Oh. ...Sorry.” Their eyes turned away, their soft face etched with the ever-present guilt that they couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard they tried to mask it.

Flowey wished they were a better actor. As much as he’d never thought he’d think this, there were days when being soulless was an asset.

At least he didn’t have to feel the devastating impact of the line that had just been crossed. He didn’t have any feelings of guilt or loss to mask.

Surely there had to be some way for Frisk to-

“But it helps, doesn’t it?”

The soft, questioning voice drew his mind from his machinations, and Flowey frowned at them. “What do you mean?”

“Well… You told me that to deal with strong opponents, I needed to adapt to sudden changes and never lose my balance, even if I’m surprised. So, isn’t this just more practice?”

“Heh.” Flowey smiled, ducking his head slightly in acknowledgment. “I guess it’s better if you think of it that way. But anyway, you’d better get going. You’ve got lasers to dodge.”

As expected, the reminder of what was coming drew Frisk’s mouth into a hard, flat line, resignation seeming to age their features a decade within a few seconds. Their fingers tightened around the frying pan they’d been holding when they saved, and their short legs moved as if they were wading against an invisible tide.

The sight was truly pitiful, and Flowey knew that if he could still feel compassion, he’d be absolutely miserable right now.

Instead, there was simply emptiness, and a purely intellectual hope that his playmate-turned-weapon wouldn’t break before the job was done.

_Hold on, Frisk. We’re almost there. Just a little longer, and this nightmare will be over._

~*~*~*~

“Is that the flower you were talking about?”

As the child on the monitor glanced toward the talking plant, Alphys nodded miserably, her head staying a bit too low as the gesture ended. The guilt that pressed her face floorward was almost tangible, and her claws twisted miserably around each other, like short snakes trying to grind each other out of existence in a wave of self-loathing.

It was hard to muster the energy to comfort her, and for a moment, Sans considered just walking away. Whatever he did right now, it wouldn’t matter for long; the timeline chart that lit the room made that all too clear.

In a few minutes, this encounter would be erased from memory, struck from reality by the backward time leap of a human who just wouldn’t stay dead. Like every other conversation, every event, every task completed and step of progress made, this meant less than nothing in the long run.

But the present moment still existed, and the fact that he existed too meant he was going to do something. That something could be to walk away, to simply stay silent, or…

Heck with it. If something was going to happen in this moment no matter what he did, he might as well use what little power he still had to make it something good.

The grip of his hand on Alphys’ shoulder felt painfully inadequate, a sad replacement for the people whose likenesses lay in a box in his pocket. But as she looked at him with big, liquid eyes, unshed tears flaring in the screen’s relentless death-white light, he was glad that he’d made at least this token effort to comfort her.

“You couldn’t have known.”

Her face fell again, and he knew that the consolation rang hollow. _What happens when something without a SOUL gains the will to live?_

He’d seen the lab notes, and silently shaken his head at the recklessness of giving consciousness to such an empty being. And yet, could he blame her? She had done too much, and often he felt like he had done too little.

There was a dark side to both determination and patience, it seemed.

But maybe not as dark as he’d thought. “Papyrus mentioned it, you know.”

There it was again, that quick, startled glance, but this time the gratitude was overwhelmed by the surprise. “W-what?”

“He told me he talked to the flower. Apparently it likes him, and it told him to get out of Snowdin before the human arrived. Heh...”

The one-syllable chuckle fell from his mouth, fondness and admiration filling the space where humor should have been. “Trust my brother to win over something that shouldn’t be capable of being won over. If he’d just been able to do that with the human...”

A sigh fell from an empty ribcage as he shook his lowered head. “Well… I guess it doesn’t matter now. For all we know, the flower’s behind this whole mess, and my bro being the sole survivor is just one of the outcomes it hasn’t seen yet. Either way, I guess it’s time to see if I can bring him back.”

Alphys jaw clenched tighter, and even as he turned away, Sans knew what she was thinking.

The battle had barely begun, and unless the readings were wrong, neither of them was going to like the way it was destined to end.

“A-are you sure you w-want to do this?”

Sans paused, his head bowing further, and it took an effort to make himself look at the timeline chart again.

Judging by the red on the line that marked the human’s progress…

“I think I already did.”

~*~*~*~

_What does it feel like?_

As he materialized in the Last Corridor for the third time, Sans stared at his opponent in silent, disturbed fascination, his observant gaze probing the slopes of shadow and light that shaped the young, stony face.

The lines on the timeline chart implied that the human’s second attempt on his life had lasted longer than the first, but only by a few seconds. They probably hadn’t even survived his opening move, yet their body language showed no sign that they intended to give up.

_Does the human soul not feel pain the way monsters’ do? Do my attacks just not hurt them? Are they going through this numb?_

_If they DO still feel this… if it does still hurt… then why?_

_What do they want that could possibly be worth that?_

They’d come to a halt, and were staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to engage them in combat… or to provide a line of dialogue that they hadn’t heard before. A scrap of the unknown that was somehow worth killing for.

_Is their sense of curiosity really just that powerful? They don’t LOOK curious, but if that isn’t their motivation, what is?_

_And, more importantly, how many tries will it take before they finally give up?_

_Only one way to find out._

Looking the human in the eye, he forced his grin not to falter. “Hmm. That expression… that’s the expression of someone who's died twice in a row.”

_Heh… as if I would remember what your expression looked like after you died and went back in time. But it’s a good setup for some jokes. A face-reader and a face that makes no sense walked into a corridor..._

“Suffice it to say, you look really… unsatisfied. All right. How ‘bout we make it a third?”

_I really wish your face looked more unhappy about that idea. And I wish I knew why, despite everything, it bothers me more than it seems to bother you._

~*~*~*~

_They’re getting better._

All but a sliver of the human’s HP bar was tainted with livid, venomous purple, Karmic Retribution coursing through their soul in the wake of Sans’ attack. Their feet were braced wide beneath them, and their short fingers clutched their knees as they recovered from the exertion and pain.

With every passing moment, a bit of their life force drained away, an inexorable fading that moved far too slowly for the skeleton’s peace of mind. The damage his opponent had taken was a testament to the fact that he was still better at his job than they were at theirs, but… it wasn’t enough.

They’d predicted his blasters with disturbing accuracy, changing directions and running to each new safe zone even as the streams of roaring light faded from the air, and only the sheer size of his final set of cannons had enabled him to score a hit.

Three tries, and they’d memorized his best attack well enough to survive it.

But at least they hadn’t survived it by much. Their Level of Violence had been stalled at an inexplicable two in Waterfall, and while the intervening battles had raised it somewhat, their thirty-six HP still withered quickly under fire.

Their legs quivered as they straightened up, but that was a blip in Sans’ radar compared to the uncontrollable trembling in their hands as they released their grip on their knees. The child’s breath was quick and shallow, struggling far more than his brief assault should have caused, and every cell in their body seemed taut with hesitation.

Their eyes lifted from the ground at their feet, only to land on the floor beside his slippers, as if they knew they should look toward their opponent but couldn’t bear the sight of him. One of their cheeks pulled inward slightly, caught in the straining vice of their teeth.

Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three. Their HP was still draining, but even as their life force bled away, the child hesitated, their knuckles whitening with their grip on a dagger that they seemed to be in no hurry to use.

_Aren’t you gonna take your turn, kid? The suspense is killing someone, and it isn’t me._

Something moved in the corner of Sans’ vision, but before his eye sockets could capture it, the motion was gone.

A subtle shadow. A hint of yellow. _Flowers are blooming, indeed._ _I hope this isn’t a setup for a sneak attack._

Masking his awareness of the observer, Sans pretended to focus on speaking to his opponent. “Huh,” he commented, his falsely carefree voice echoing faintly in the eerie silence that the roar of his attack had left behind. “Always wondered why people never use their strongest attack first.”

_And now I wonder if you will._

His back prickled with the suspicion that something was moving behind him again, but even as he split off a bit of his focus to watch for a backstab, the majority of his attention was recaptured by a far more significant movement.

The human was finally charging at him.

Their steps were rushed and uneven, and their feet flew beneath them in a haphazard flurry, as if their legs had disconnected from their body and were blindly attempting to close the distance without regard for anything else.

Those small, short fingers tightened around the dagger, and Sans tensed as he recognized his attacker’s posture from an earlier fight.

Heh. As if that brutal and undeserved execution could be called a fight.

Sure enough, there it came: a sharp horizontal swing, aimed for the vulnerable column of his neck. Just like the blow that killed Papyrus.

Anger flared through Sans’ body, masked by the perpetual grin on his face and coupled with a bitter hint of derision as he easily sidestepped the assault.

It was strange, that such a prolific killer would make such a sad excuse for a murder attempt. A large, obvious movement, and embarrassingly predictable… except that the final instant of it wasn’t.

As the child stumbled to a halt and the battle box re-closed around them, Sans felt his eye sockets widen slightly in his closest equivalent to an eyebrow raise.

_That attack… wasn’t aimed the way I thought it would be._

Quickly masking his surprise, Sans winked at his opponent, raising his stubby arms in a shrug. “What? You think I’m just gonna stand there and take it?”

Their glance turned down and away, as if pushed by the frown that weighed on their forehead. The familiar feeling of tense suspicion flared between Sans’ ribs; they didn’t look as surprised by the dodge as they should have been.

_No… I don’t think they thought that. Which means they’ve tried to kill me before, or been told stories by someone who has._

_I knew that flower was trouble._

That was a problem for another time, if such a thing existed. For now, he had more important questions to ask. “Y’know, kid, when it comes to using your strongest attack first… I can’t help but notice that you didn’t. Maybe you were trying to, but at the last instant… you almost pulled that punch, didn’t you?”

As he’d hoped, the question struck a nerve. Every inch of their body tensed, and a dark tide of something almost like dread washed across their face.

_Ha. I know something you don’t want me to know._

“Heh… guilty conscience, buddy? Havin’ a hard time taking a swing at me? Actually, that wouldn’t really surprise me. There’s been something bugging me ever since you first walked out of the Ruins. Something that shouldn’t be possible.

“You act like you’re the worst person you can possibly be. Killing everyone you come across. Trying to come across more of them, so you have more people to kill. Killing the people who might have been your friends, if you’d given them a chance.”

The child was shaking by now, teeth gritted and knuckles pale as their fingers clung to the dagger, as if its weight had multiplied tenfold and anything less than their most desperate grip would let it fall from a hand that didn’t want it.

_Come on, kid. Just let go._

“And yet,” he continued, keeping his tone casual and curious, “you actually might _not_ be the worst person you can be, even though that shouldn’t be possible. I have to admit, I’ve never seen anything like this.

“Come on, kid – you’ve gotta let me in on your secret. How is it that a person can have the execution points of a level nineteen, and yet only be at Level of Violence five?”

A mask of stone snapped into place, laced with cracks that shone with pain, but deliberately blank enough to make him think he was getting closer.

Whether that was closer to getting through to them or to making them shut him out entirely, he wouldn’t know until he tried.

“You’re not happy about this, are you? Even though you’ve killed so many people, you never completely distanced yourself. Even though you should be numb by now, you’re still feeling it.”

So many expressions on one face. Fear. Misery. Dread. Relief.

All of it nearly drowned out by pain, pain, pain.

Could a choice that hurt them that intensely really have been their own?

“Whatever led you down this path... was it really your decision? Or is there something pushin’ ya... something you can possibly solve another way?”

With that, the mask closed entirely, the cracks sealed by the shadow that fell across their face. “There is no other solution.”

Even as their grim, resigned voice faded from the air, Sans couldn’t help but wonder if an unspoken phrase lingered in its wake: _“I should know. I tried.”_

_I certainly hope you did._

He’d used his turn on talking, and now they were charging at him again. This time, the last-instant waver was absent, and the vicious swing came closer to carving a new opening in his hood.

“Welp... too bad then,” Sans commented, his slippered feet sliding to a halt on the smooth tile floor. “I mean, too bad for YOU. Whatever you’re hoping to accomplish with this... I hope it’s better than what you’ve given up.”


	2. What The Killer Gave Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the past reveals the relationships that were lost when Frisk reset the previous timelines, and a hint of the reasons for their rampage in Timeline 4.

_Timeline 2_  
  
“Doctor Alphys! As much as I hate to contest your brilliance, I must insist!! That you cannot!! Put instant noodles!! IN SPAGHETTI!!!”  
  
As his brother’s rising agitation took audible form in an equally rising voice, Sans felt his grin pressing the edges of his cheekbones. A few feet away, Alphys was withering beneath Papyrus’ superior stature as the persnickety skeleton inadvertently loomed over her, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground as she defended her culinary decisions.  
  
“But P-Papyrus, you don’t normally put c-cut up hot dogs in spaghetti e-either!”  
  
“Nonsense! Cutting up hot dogs into other food is a time-honored Snowdin tradition! A-HA!” The sudden revelation drew Papyrus to his full impressive height, and he placed his fists triumphantly on his narrow hips. “THAT’S why you haven’t heard of it – you live in Hotland! Wowie… I’m glad I don’t live in Hotland.”  
  
A second later, Undyne’s powerful right hand interrupted the conversation, colliding with Papyrus in a friendly backslap that nearly folded the skeleton double. “No she doesn’t, doofus! Nobody lives in Hotland anymore! At least, not for much longer. Isn’t that right, Frisk?”  
  
Even before he turned to look at the human, Sans could hear their small body bouncing on the stool next to his, bobbing up and down with the force of their exuberant nod. Their soft features glowed with pride, and their teeth flashed in a grin that rivaled his own.  
  
“Yup! Everyone’s going to move up here, right? Or, almost everyone – Gyftrot said it wanted to stay underground once the teenagers went away. But it doesn’t live in Hotland.”  
  
“In that case,” Papyrus cheerfully proclaimed, “it’s OK! As long as everyone is safe from living in the land of lasers and conveyor belts, your quest was almost a success – even if I didn’t become a member of the Royal Guard.”  
  
Frisk giggled, and while Alphys didn’t seem to agree with his assessment of her home, the eyeroll she sent in the skeleton’s direction seemed more fond than annoyed.  
  
Turning to Toriel, Frisk stretched a bit higher, as if subconsciously trying to match the boss monster’s formidable height. “Do you think anyone else will come and join our celebration picnic?”  
  
“I am not certain, my child. Although...” Glancing at the battery-powered oven, relocated cupboard and counter set, water cooler and water-catching bucket that sat scattered around the mountain ledge, Toriel raised an eyebrow slightly. “Can you still call it a picnic, if Doctor Alphys and Undyne have turned the ledge into a full outdoor kitchen?”  
  
Confusion washed across Frisk’s face, as it tended to when the matter of social customs was broached. As if noticing the child’s consternation, Asgore took a step closer to the table Undyne had carried to the picnic site, smiling down at the tiny human.  
  
“I think the important thing,” he commented, “is that we’re all here, celebrating our first day of freedom together.”  
  
“Yeah,” Undyne piped up, her yellow teeth flashing in a fierce, exuberant grin. “Hey, Frisk, maybe you and I oughta cook something, huh? Show these punks how it’s done?”  
  
To the surprise of no one who knew Undyne, Frisk’s expression tensed with reluctance, and they shuffled slightly on their stool, as if an adequate amount of fidgeting would produce the diplomatic escape they were searching for. “But Undyne,” they protested nervously, “what if we burn down the mountain?”  
  
A small snort of laughter escaped from Sans and Alphys, and the short skeleton watched as tension flared through Toriel’s body. “I am sure Doctor Alphys made the equipment safer than that… did she not?” the former queen asked uncomfortably, and the yellow lizard responded by twisting her claws together.  
  
“W-well… I normally d-do, but Undyne wanted a s-special oven, to match her f-fighting spirit, so… um…”  
  
“So the dial only goes one way,” Frisk supplied, “and I… um…” Their face turned groundward in embarrassment. “I blew up the stove and burned down the house.”  
  
“Yeah,” Undyne added, “it was great! An explosive start to an awesome friendship. You know, looking back, I kind of regret not doing that scrapbook project I suggested. I mean, how badass would that have been?! Commemorating the best moments of our first and final battle while surrounded by roaring flames!”  
  
“That sounds dangerous,” Toriel protested, predictably disturbed, while Frisk shrank slightly, their body tightening in a way that sent a trickle of uneasy pity through Sans’ ribcage.  
  
“What’s with the expression, kiddo? Is scrapbooking a pet peeve of yours, or was it mostly the fire?”  
  
The human’s uncomfortable frown deepened, and Undyne looked slightly abashed. “Oh… right. They don’t like boss battle scrapbooks. Which is really too bad – our fight was awesome!”  
  
“No it wasn’t.”  
  
The muted voice drew every eye to Frisk, and Sans felt the cheerfulness draining from his grin. The child’s face was downcast, and the tension in their mouth and fingers spoke of angry pain.  
  
_Whoops. Good job, Undyne._  
  
“It isn’t fun.” Frisk’s voice was still tight and restrained, as if part of them resisted the idea of making a scene, but another part couldn’t keep quiet. “Being hit with spears and told to die isn’t fun.”  
  
Their face lifted toward Undyne, and the frown grew into a full-fledged glare. “And throwing spears at children shouldn’t be considered fun, either.”  
  
If the target of Frisk’s statement had been anyone else, Sans could have hoped that they’d at least have the sense to show a bit of remorse. Especially after what he’d been told about the fish’s mid-battle speech.  
  
But this was Undyne, lover of all things combat-related, and Sans doubted she could bring herself to consider a fight to be something bad enough to regret.  
  
“Come on!”  
  
Sure enough, her voice was as cheerfully forceful as ever, and Sans inwardly cringed as she went on.  
  
“Where’s your fighting spirit? You were great in that fight! I mean, you were practically a pro! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I trained you myself! Didn’t they teach you to enjoy a good spear fight in human school?”  
  
“I didn’t go to human school,” Frisk replied, consternation and discomfort stealing some of the anger from their frown, and to Sans’ relief, the comment diverted the exuberant warrior from her accidental bout of blatant insensitivity.  
  
“Seriously? Man, you’ll have to hang out with Alphys and I sometime! She can teach you all sorts of cool stuff, even if her human history course might need some revision. But hey, anime is cool too, even if it isn’t real.”  
  
“I have already assembled a curriculum on human history,” Toriel pointed out, a flicker of proud enthusiasm sparking to life on her face. “Though, I still need to gather information about recent events; very little news reached me in the Ruins.”  
  
Her gaze flicked sideways to Sans, and he felt a spark of pride of his own as she added, “Since Alphys upgraded my phone, I have been able to connect to the human internet, and I have already started to use it for my research. Sans has helped me to locate some good resources, so I am certain that I can manage both of our education.”  
  
“Man, you’re already using the internet for work?” Undyne grinned. “Alphys and I have just been watching anime! We even managed to get Papyrus to watch _Madoka Magica_ with us, once we’d convinced him to hold off on playing ‘ambassador’ for a day.”  
  
Irritation rattled through the tall skeleton’s bones. “I can’t believe you got me to waste four whole hours on a children’s show when important work needed to be done!”  
  
“Oh, come on, dude! You were crying by the end of it! And don’t tell me you caught something in your eye – that something was definitely tears.”  
  
“The great Papyrus only cries when it’s entirely justified! I was crying because! ...Because!! Because… because I can’t believe that in a cartoon for children…”  
  
Papyrus had no lip to quiver, but his eye sockets were starting to water again. Quietly, Frisk slid off of their stool and took their friend’s hand, prompting Papyrus to mash them face-first into his battle body.  
  
“Nyoo hoo, I can’t believe that I’m blubbering in such an uncool way about a kid’s show...”  
  
“It’s OK, Papyrus,” Alphys tried to reassure him. “I think everyone cries the first time they watch that. And besides!”  
  
Her brows dropped into a fierce, smiling glare, confident exuberance radiating from her stance as it only did when science and anime were involved. “ _Madoka_ is definitely not for children! There are several different types of anime, like shonen, shojo, seinen, and josei, and they’re for different age groups and genders! _Madoka_ is a seinen anime, which means it’s meant for adults!”  
  
“A cartoon for adults? Ridiculous! Humans are so strange!”  
  
Rage flared through Alphys’ eyes, and Toriel stepped between the lizard and the skeleton, much to the visible disappointment of the fish who’d been enjoying her girlfriend’s display of passionate fighting spirit.  
  
Smiling brightly, the boss monster interjected, “At least their monster history is covered. My child, I believe you passed through Waterfall, did you not?”  
  
Frisk nodded, taking a step away from Papyrus and as Alphys continued to glare at the skeleton in the background, Toriel’s face waxed reflective. “Though, that is only a glimpse of it… not that there is much to tell after the barrier was created.”  
  
“Yeah,” Undyne sulked, “No big battles, no flowery princess swordswomen, no dramatic forbidden romances... man. Our history sucks. Oh, well!” She brightened suddenly, eager ferocity flashing in her one yellow eye.  
  
“Now that we’re on the surface, I’m sure something badass will happen soon! I mean, there are humans making history all over the place! And they’re already exploring space, so we _have_ to find hostile aliens sooner or later, right?”  
  
Darkness washed across Frisk’s face, and Sans watched their features closely as their head tilted toward the ground. “I hope not,” the child muttered, and Undyne turned toward them with what looked like genuine shock.  
  
“What? Why not?!”  
  
“Well, it...” Frisk’s face lifted, pain sparking in their perpetually almost-closed eyes. “Stuff like that’s OK for you, Undyne, because you _like_ to fight. But...”  
  
Their gaze fell again. “I don’t like it. I only fight when I have to, and I already had to way too much in the Underground. Now that we’re up here, I just want things to be peaceful for a while, with no fighting.”  
  
Silence descended on the ledge like a mist of soundless rain, and Sans let his eyelids fall shut. _Undyne’s going to_ _upset them_ _again in three, two…_  
  
“Aw, that’s no fun! Can’t we at least have a sparring match now and then? Don’t worry, I promise I’ll go easy on you!”  
  
_Right on schedule. One of these days, I need to teach her how to read the audience. Not that I have a flawless track record when it comes to that._  
  
_I wonder if I should say something._  
  
Before he could make a decision, Toriel stepped in, a hint of sternness flickering in the back of her warm, motherly eyes. “Undyne, Frisk has already been through a great deal, and it sounds like you were partly responsible.”  
  
It was remarkable how quickly that gentle, maternal tone could turn flinty. Not to mention the glare – he wouldn’t say Toriel could do stink eye with the best of them, so much as she’d probably make the second best flinch. It wasn’t often that he saw Undyne shrink away from someone like that – the movement was subtle, but it was definitely there.  
  
Seeing that she’d made her point, the boss monster softened. “I think they are right; it would be good to allow them to just be a child for a while, would it not? After all, every child deserves to have a time when they can feel safe and taken care of.”  
  
The look of surprise and confusion on Frisk’s face made his heart twist. They looked as if Toriel had suggested that they visit one of those alien planets Undyne was so eager to see.  
  
As if the concept of being safe and cared for was still barely beginning to scratch the surface of a pool iced over with pain.  
  
But then, given what they’d said to him earlier that timeline, Sans knew that he shouldn’t be surprised.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Frisk’s voice was quiet, and while the confusion and hurt still lingered in their eyebrows, their mouth had lifted in half a smile. “That’s… I… I’m not really used to that, and I don’t know if I even know how to feel that way, but… I think… it would be nice.”  
  
Tears began to well up in Papyrus’ eyes again, and Alphys started to blink faster than usual. Fondness, pain and regret flickered in Undyne’s golden stare, and once again, Sans found himself wondering if he should say or do something.  
  
_I want to, but right now… I’m not sure what to say._  
  
Asgore and Toriel both moved toward the human at the same time, only to pause as the smaller boss monster gave the larger one a look that stated clearly that she didn’t want him any closer than he was.  
  
Alphys fidgeted, looking as uncertain as Sans felt, and as the other monsters hesitated, Papyrus took the opportunity to monopolize child-hugging detail.  
  
“Fear not, lonely human! I, the great Papyrus, will take excellent care of you! You will know nothing but the utmost care and absolute safety, and you’ll be well-fed on my… on my…” His nasal cavity began to work, air jolting sharply into nonexistent lungs, then anatomically improbable eyeballs suddenly bulged from his head.  
  
“MY SPAGHETTI!”  
  
The acrid smell of burning noodles permeated the air, and Papyrus practically sailed across the ledge, hauling a startled Frisk in one arm and reaching for the pot with the other. “Nyoo hoo, my perfect artisan’s creation is ruined! How can I compete with Alphys’ terrible instant noodles under these conditions?”  
  
“Don’t worry, Papyrus,” Frisk assured him, grunting the words out from a ribcage that looked unpleasantly compressed. “We can still eat the spaghetti at the top. And I can eat just about anything!”  
  
Easily reassured as always, Papyrus instantly brightened. “That’s true! I almost forgot, you have no standards! I mean…” His features flattened, in tandem with his voice. “You _did_ eat garbage during your fight with Mettaton. I saw it on TV.”  
  
A sour expression crawled across the human’s face – whether because of the pre-bitten burger or the brutal fight, Sans couldn’t tell. “I grabbed it by accident when I was reaching for a hot dog. But anyway, in a fight like that, the only standard that matters about food is how many HP it gives you.”  
  
And now, again, their face fell into shadow and took Sans’ mood down with it. “That’s the only thing about food that I’ve cared about for a while now.”  
  
A solemn hush fell over the group, and Sans felt his eye sockets slip closed.  
  
_I wish I knew what to say. I know I helped a bit today, but when this much damage has been done… is there anything I could say that would even matter?_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_Timeline 4_  
  
_That’s strange._  
  
According to the readings on the timeline chart, he’d fought the human five times now. They’d survived his opening attack easily, but the barrages that followed had scored enough glancing blows to drain their meager HP into the single digits.  
  
And yet, for some reason, they weren’t eating.  
  
He could smell the pie in their pocket, sweet and nostalgic and reeking of injustice, but they hadn’t touched it. He’d heard the rattle of Alphys’ instant noodles, pilfered from her home no doubt, but those, too, were ignored.  
  
Just like all the food in their pockets had been ignored in every battle he’d witnessed.  
  
As he launched his fifth attack, covering the floor in bones and silently cursing his inability to weed the platforms of harmless magic out of the onslaught, Sans mentally replayed the murders he’d forced himself to watch on Alphys’ coldly glowing screen.  
  
Most of the attacks could hardly be called fights; one monster after another had died in just one hit.  
But even when outnumbered or confronted by an enemy as powerful as Undyne, the human had never spent a single turn on eating, no matter how low their HP was.  
  
They just kept dying over and over, jolting the timeline back and forth until they could survive the conflict without healing even once.  
  
They’d eaten between battles on occasion, so Sans knew that they knew that food restored health. But in combat, they kept a strict diet of attack, attack, attack.  
  
_A self-imposed challenge? Is this like getting an achievement in a video game?_  
  
_Is that all we are to them?_  
  
For a moment, sick anger twisted through him, sending a yellow flash of rage through his eye.  
  
Then one of the fragments of magic grazed the human’s head, and Sans’ stare probed every microexpression on their resigned, guilt-ridden face.  
  
_No… that’s not the expression of someone who’s playing a game. It’s… no, not quite, but… something almost like…_  
  
_Self-punishment?_  
  
They were stumbling now, struggling to stay upright while the battle box vanished and their narrow chest labored for air, and Sans watched in disturbed fascination.  
  
_Would someone go this far just to punish themselves? As opposed to, say, just jumping off a cliff?_  
  
_It would mean the timeline is in the hands of a seriously twisted person, but at least it would also mean there’s enough of a soul in there that there’s a point in trying to get through._  
  
Even if it meant having a conversation that he’d never been willing to have with anybody else.  
  
The human swayed for a moment, their feet braced wide beneath their warily bent body, like a hunting animal securing its balance and preparing to spring. A predictable forward rush followed, and as he ducked beneath the blade, Sans inwardly shook his head at the irony of what he was about to do.  
  
_Of all the people to be the first one I confide this to…_  
  
“You can’t understand how this feels.”  
  
He wasn’t sure how he’d thought they’d respond to his words, or to the hopelessness he allowed to leak into his tone. Indifference… derision… maybe regret, if he was lucky?  
  
Whatever it was, it wasn’t what he got. The way the human’s fists clenched and their torso shrank in on itself didn’t look like any of those.  
  
It looked more like… denial.  
  
Troubled, pained, almost sympathetic denial.  
  
_Are you saying you think you DO understand? CAN you understand what it’s like…_  
  
As the battle box closed around his tormentor and his next attack began, Sans allowed the pain to finally flow, to fuel the fury of his assault.  
  
_Knowing that you have no future? That everything you do will be undone, everything you say will be forgotten, every hope and dream is permanently out of reach, and every effort you make is pointless?_  
  
_To wonder how many times you have done and will do the same futile things, and be powerless to stop the cycle?_  
  
_To know that even if you get a happy ending… or if you give up on ever having one, and give yourself a different kind of end… no one will even remember that it happened?_  
  
_All because an invincible immortal in the skin of a child decided that we’re nothing more than toys to be used and broken._  
  
“Knowing that one day, without any warning... it's all going to be reset.”  
  
They turned to face him, but their expression was hidden. They’d let their hair fall over their eyes, as if the thin brown veil could block him out, shield them from the pain in his words and narrow their focus entirely on their next attempt to take his life.  
  
This time, their attack was aimed better, and the skeleton was forced to use a short teleport to escape the wild, desperate slash that his dodge almost failed to evade.  
  
_Heh… that was closer than usual. Looks like you’re getting eager to shut me up._  
  
_The truth hurts, doesn’t it?_  
  
_There’s a reason why I don’t make a habit of sharing it._  
  
As his counterattack swept across the battlefield, the concentration that tightened the human’s face made Sans suspect that they were seeing this turn for the first time.  
  
But he knew that wouldn’t last. They’d probably evaded his first few assaults by memory alone, and it was only a matter of time before they could do the same here.  
  
Before the words that had put that pain in their stance ceased to have meaning.  
  
_Have they heard me say these things before?_  
  
_Did they listen?_  
  
_Do they care?_  
  
_And are they really capable of knowing that it’s like, to live in the world they’ve created for us?_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_Timeline 2_  
  
“I hate this.”  
  
If it weren’t for the events of the last few hours, the night would have been beautiful. The fresh, clear air spread endlessly above them, gulfs of emptiness stretching away into the glittering depths of space, and even now, Flowey could still find it in himself to marvel at the sheer vastness of it.  
  
The world outside the Underground was so breathtakingly huge, strewn with endless possibilities… and yet, amid all that space and all these new people and things, there was that one persistent fly that kept ruining the ointment.  
  
Glancing to his human companion as they sat on the ledge beside him, the golden blossom asked, “What, the waiting?”  
  
Their soft face ducked in a miserable nod, and they drew their knees closer to their chest.  
  
“Yeah. I can’t stop wondering when it’s gonna happen. Every time I talk to someone, or eat a meal, or try to take a nap, I wonder if it’s going to happen right in the middle of it, and if there’s even a point.  
  
“And explaining things to everyone... every time I do, they say the same things, and… I’m trying to be patient, because it isn’t their fault that they sound like a bunch of reruns, but it’s starting to feel like there’s no point. Even if I just tell them to stop talking because I’ve already heard it, I’ll probably be the only one who even remembers I was rude.”  
  
_The only one who remembers…_ The thought was nostalgic in a way that made him sick.  
  
The first time he’d tried killing a moldsmal, it had been partly to see what would happen, and partly to see if it would make him feel anything.  
  
To his surprise, it had worked; guilt had washed over him so powerfully that he’d immediately reloaded his save to try to rid himself of the feeling.  
  
_That_ part had not worked. Just his luck, that his soulless state would steal his capacity for love and compassion, but not shame.  
  
In the wake of that, the only thing that had comforted him was the mantra he’d started chanting in his head: _I’m the only one who remembers._  
  
As long as that was the case, there was no need for his guilt to linger, because nobody was even aware that they’d suffered. Being the only one whose memories survived had been so freeing, until it began to make the people who forgot look like boring toys.  
  
But Frisk… Frisk was different. They remembered, too. They weren’t just another forgetful plaything, looping mindlessly through the same set of responses over and over.  
  
They knew how it felt to watch other people act like characters in a video game, until actions and words that had once meant everything ceased to mean anything.  
  
“Heh.” A bitter smile spread across the flower’s face like a spill of sour milk. “I guess I was right... you really _are_ the only one who understands me.”  
  
For a brief moment, the expected flash of sympathy and warmth flickered across the human’s face.  
  
Then it was drowned in a sudden tide of uneasy, half-defiant dread. “But… I don’t want to end up like you.”  
  
That was ruder than he’d come to expect from them. But under the stressful circumstances, he could hardly blame them, and he knew all too well that he’d earned it. “I didn’t think you would. Golly, _I_ didn’t want to end up like me. I fought it for a long time. But eventually, it happened.”  
  
Silence fell in the wake of his comment, lingering for a long moment beneath the dazzling celestial display before Frisk’s muted voice returned. “It’s weird… you can’t feel most of the things I feel, but you’re the only one I can really talk to about those things. I tried talking to some of the others, but then when I died, they all just forgot.  
  
“I’m so tired of having the same conversations over and over. You’re the only one I can talk to and know that you’ll remember, even if I end up having to reset.”  
  
A sigh heaved slowly from their narrow chest, and they folded in on themselves, looking smaller than ever as they rested their forehead on their knees. “I don’t want to reset. I don’t want to lose all the memories we’ve all made together.  
  
“If I end up having to reset, I wish… I wish there was a way to take care of this in another timeline, and then come back to this timeline where everyone remembers me. Or something like that.”  
  
Memories flickered through Flowey’s mind, and he shook his head. “Sorry, Frisk. If there _is_ a way to bend the rules like that, I don’t know what it is. Goodness knows I tried enough times.  
  
“Part of me thought that maybe, if I got enough power… if I took enough souls… I’d be able to reset things back to before I was a flower. To when I was myself. But it seems like that’s impossible. You can only go back as far as the moment when you first got your power.”  
  
A soft moan escaped from Frisk’s small, tired body, and Flowey smiled sadly. “I guess there are a few things you’d like to reset, huh? From before you came to Mount Ebott?”  
  
Dull, empty eyes stared hollowly from the child’s face as a weary effort lifted their head from their knees. Somewhere amid that half-dead blankness, Flowey caught the unmistakable flash of pain.  
  
“Yeah,” they answered quietly, their flat tone turning slightly husky. “There are. When I reset the first timeline, I tried really hard to go back far enough. But if it’s possible, I don’t know how.  
  
“It wasn’t even like hitting a wall; if it was, maybe I could push through it. It was like there was just… nothing. Nothing before I fell through the barrier. Nothing to reach for, nothing to grab or put my feet on. I don’t know how to push through that.”  
  
Flowey’s head bobbed in a knowing nod. “That sounds like what happened to me.” He sighed. “I guess even people like us can’t have everything we want. All we can do is try to keep what we have now.”  
  
Frisk’s head lowered in what could have been either a nod, or simply going limp in the face of an insurmountable task. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_Timeline 4_  
  
“Look. I gave up trying to go back a long time ago.”  
  
The human’s eyes were avoiding his face, their gaze fixed resolutely on his feet as they attacked. He could see his words sinking in, like stones through the murky surface of a lake, but he couldn’t tell what happened to them after they landed.  
  
“And getting to the surface doesn't really appeal anymore, either.”  
  
It was strange, how easily the words were coming. As if all the painful truths he’d been storing inside, but couldn’t bring himself to inflict on the people he cared about, were finally rising to the surface in the presence of someone who mattered to him in the worst possible way.  
  
Mattered to him… that was a scary way to put it.  
  
For a moment, he’d almost stopped looking for the human’s reactions. Stopped probing for guilt, regret, and ways to work his way through the cracks in the wall they’d erected around their soul.  
  
All of his focus had been on forcing himself to launch an attack that should have come easily, but that nearly fell short of the speed and ferocity that he knew he could put into it.  
  
_Why? Why is it so hard for me to use my full power on my brother’s murderer?_  
  
Even as he mentally asked the question, the answer was written on the human’s face. A flicker of melancholy had twisted their features at the mention of trying to go back, a hint of the same sad resignation that he saw in his reflection every single day.  
  
And even as he followed his dismissal of going to the surface with a volley of death-bearing magic, for just an instant, the child stopped focusing on his attacks, and almost looked him in the eye.  
  
The glance was so brief that a blink would have cost him the sight of it, but even the haste with which they returned their eyes to his attack couldn’t mask the horror, confusion and pain that blazed through the ever-present haze of guilt.  
  
_I know why I still care. But why do you?_  
  
Sans’ attack faded, and the human’s answering assault was as wild and desperate as it was hesitant. As if they were trying to throw everything they had into the strike, but just couldn’t bring themselves to aim it properly.  
  
Yet again, they stumbled to a halt, and the lines of the battle box closed them off from their target.  
  
_I know you’re listening. Please, understand. Please realize what you’re doing to us._ “’Cause even if we do,” the skeleton continued, watching their face more closely than ever, “we’ll just end up right back here, without any memory of it, right?”  
  
It was supposed to make the human falter. Baring his soul, while using it as a weapon – fitting, he supposed, for a member of a species whose attacks sprang forth from the culmination of their beings.  
  
Instead, their horror dissolved, like smoke swept aside by a sudden wind of fierce, steely resolve.  
  
Their glance became a sword edged with fire, unspoken words hovering in the air like the echo of a timeline he couldn’t remember, and even as he wondered what he’d awakened in them, a bigger part of him wanted to know what they’d said to each other in that moment whose memory teased the edges of his mind.  
  
As if that one conversation was the answer to everything, and all these mysteries would be solved if only he remembered it.  
  
His volley brought his opponent down to their last five HP, and their next attack was fiercer than any that had preceded it, as if something in his words had solidified their resolve. Even as he dodged it and continued to speak, Sans wondered if he was pounding nails into his own coffin.  
  
“To be blunt, it makes it kind of hard to give it my all.”  
  
To his relief, it looked like he wouldn’t have to. His next assault grazed the leaping human’s leg, leeching the last of their life force out of them and sparing him the need to wring more ferocity from a soul that couldn’t seem to stop holding back.  
  
The world went white, then black, and even as he felt himself being pulled away from the present moment, a flicker of regret carved a crack in his attempt to steel himself for the next round.  
  
_I’m going to forget this. The look on their face, that feeling of being so close to an answer… they’ll hide it next time, and I’ll never even know that that moment happened._  
  
_Just one more thing to forget, in a timeline I don’t want to remember. This is one thing I’ll be glad to give up._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_Timeline 3_  
  
“What did you give up, Sans?”  
  
A moment ago, the sentry’s attention had been consumed by the crisp chill in the air, the possibilities and predictions that waged war in his mind, and the strange familiarity of the presence beside him.  
  
A human. A species so rare in the Underground that few had expected to even see one in their lifetime, and a representative so young that the power of their soul seemed almost foreign in a body so small and vulnerable.  
  
And yet, they held such remarkable abilities, and claimed to have used those abilities to reverse a past timeline in which the two of them had become friends.  
  
No wonder their face had looked so familiar, and the echoes of emotion had been so warm.  
  
Now, as their words cut through his contemplations, the crunch of snow beneath his slippers paused, and the air seemed to shrink away from him as he glanced at the child who’d been walking by his side.  
  
A corner of his mind reflexively checked the vicinity for eavesdroppers, but it seemed that Frisk knew him well enough to be aware of his desire for secrecy. They’d waited until the two of them were alone, and now they were staring up at him, concern etched into their small, soft face.  
  
“What do you mean, kiddo? Did I say something in the last timeline?”  
  
They nodded, the fingers of their right hand tightening around the back of their left, and worry tugged even harder on their forehead. “After Flowey absorbed everybody’s souls, I found your soul inside his during our fight.  
  
“You didn’t really seem to be awake, but you were talking. You told me… you said, ‘just give up, I did’. And then you said, ‘you’ll never see them again; why even try?’”  
  
Their face lowered, and their grip on their own hand tightened in a way that reminded him of Alphys. “I know you don’t like to talk about stuff. Papyrus says you never tell anybody anything. But...” Their eyes rose shyly to meet his, lit with uncertainty and hope. “Maybe talking would help? Or maybe I could?”  
  
The bone sheaths over his eye sockets fell closed, and he let a small, soft sigh escape from the hollow of his chest. “Heh… from what you’ve said, you’re pretty good at fixing people’s problems. I have no doubt that you’ll help a lot of people in this timeline, just like you did before things fell apart in the last one. Maybe this time, you can even get it to stick.  
  
“But the way you described it… it sounds like even your ‘special power’ only goes back so far. The things I wanted to go back to… the people I tried to bring back…”  
  
He didn’t mean to let the pain become visible on his face. But he felt it gripping his features anyway, even as he opened his eyes. “They’re probably beyond your reach.”  
  
As he’d expected, they weren’t ready to accept his verdict that easily. Not without asking the all-important question. “Why? Did it happen before I fell down here?”  
  
“Yeah. Long before.”  
  
With that, their narrow shoulders slumped, defeated as he’d suspected they would be. “Oh,” they said softly. “In that case, you’re probably right; I might not be able to help.  
  
“I can only go back to the moment when I first fell into the Underground, when I’m still falling down. I guess it was right after I passed the barrier. I’ve tried to go back further than that, but I couldn’t. I guess... maybe the barrier or monster magic activates my power somehow?”  
  
“Hm. Maybe. Or maybe the barrier blocks time travel as effectively as it does everything else.”  
  
It was almost strange, to feel the scientist in him waking up again. To feel curiosity for its own sake, rather than all his powers of investigation being fully concentrated on finding the anomaly, ways to keep Papyrus happy, ways to antagonize Papyrus, and reasons to keep getting out of bed.  
  
“That might be something worth exploring,” he continued. “If you could find a way to increase your power level somehow, maybe... heh.” The end of that train of thought came into sight, and he decided it was time to derail it.  
  
“Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not sure it would be a good idea. A lot has happened since then; who knows what could change, and if the changes would be good.  
  
“Besides, from what you’ve said, things got dangerous for you before you came to Mount Ebott. If you go back that far, and your ability to self-resurrect doesn’t work until you fall down here, who knows; maybe you’d end up dying before you ever came here.”  
  
A frown slid across Frisk’s face, dark memories haunting their narrow, lowered eyes. Their small body shrank into itself, and the echoes of all-too-recent events sent a shiver through them that had nothing to do with Snowdin’s ever-present cold.  
  
“You’re probably right. I barely survived the first time, and next time it would be even worse. But...”  
  
A hint of hope and defiance flared to life, burning a hole through the shroud of dejection on their face. “I’ve survived lots of fights since then, and gotten good at not dying, and next time I’d know what to expect.  
  
“I’m still scared, but if I could get strong enough that I could handle it…” Their eyes fell even lower, and the look of pain and longing on their face was far too familiar. “I also have someone I want to see again.”


	3. A Dangerous Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus hatches a daring plan to stop the deadly time traveler, and Alphys develops a terrifying theory about the human's motives.

_Timeline 4_  
  
“I think th-they’re lasting longer.”  
  
Alphys was stating the obvious, but Sans decided not to comment on it. He could read the chart as well as she could, and while the human sometimes died quickly, he had to agree that on average, the zigzags that represented their battle were getting longer.  
  
It would be a long time before they peaked, but after that… “It gets shorter later on, though,” he commented. “And then starts getting longer again. Any idea why that is?”  
  
“W-well...” Her claws twisted together in a familiar fidget, and her eyes strayed to the exit. “It c-could be that Asgore decided to come give you b-backup.”  
  
The comment sent echoes of an earlier conversation flickering through Sans’ mind, and uneasiness swam through his nonexistent gut and pressed his forehead into a frown.  
  
“I’m not sure about that. I thought we agreed that we wanted to leave him out of it, in case a malfunction with the souls was the reason for this. I mean, could one kid even do this all by themselves?”  
  
His mittened hand gestured to the static at the end of the timeline, and Alphys’ ever-protruding front teeth pressed into her lower lip.  
  
“I g-guess it could be the souls. I don’t see how a single h-human could cause all this, but I n-never would have thought they could take control of the t-timeline, either. We have no idea what they’re c-capable of.”  
  
A soft sigh fell from Sans’ hollow ribcage, and his attention turned to the lone figure that was walking down the hall leading from New Home. “Welp… whatever they can do, I guess it’s time for me to find out and forget again. Wish me luck.”  
  
“G-good l- hey!”  
  
Wry irritation twisted Alphys’ mouth, along with a hint of fondness as the mischievous skeleton disappeared while she was in mid-sentence. “I should have known you were going to do that.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Earlier in Timeline 4_  
  
“Brother! Your bed is an absolute mess! Surely it can’t be comfortable, sleeping on such a disaster area. Do you even use your sheets?”  
  
Glancing at the ball of tangled bedding, which lay coiled a foot to the right of where he sat on his barren excuse for a bed, Sans gave an expansive gesture, as if the grand purpose of the mess should be obvious. “Of course, bro. They’re the centerpiece to my sock collection!”  
  
Predictably enraged, Papyrus began stomping and pumping his fists in a fit of impotent frustration. “They’re not even IN your sock collection, Sans! Your sock collection is over there, on the floor!”  
  
“Right – I was going to move that to the living room, but I forgot.”  
  
“Don’t you dare! If you’re going to make a disaster area, it must be properly quarantined! In your room!”  
  
“OK, OK, howzabout this – I’ll move the sock collection onto my bed.”  
  
Any other day, the look of persnickety rage on Papyrus’ exasperated face would have been both comical and reassuring, as would the scream of “NYEEEH!”  
  
A familiar, distinctive sound, a reminder that his brother was alive and present in a world where everything else was inevitably crumbling apart.  
  
“Sans,” Papyrus complained, keeping a part of the smaller skeleton’s mind on the conversation, even as the other part slid toward the darkness this diversion had nearly distracted him from. “I don’t understand how anyone can nap for seven hours a night, and not even care that their bed is a mess! Or that they forgot to even pack their bedding for the evacuation.”  
  
And with that, the looming depression was back, its greedy claws groping for a hold on his soul. _Because not caring is what I do, bro. And the last thing I want is for you to understand._  
  
 _Understanding is WHY I can’t care anymore._  
  
“Sans...”  
  
Crap. He knew that tone. Without the facial muscles fleshy monsters had, his face tended to keep its misleading grin with relatively little work, but once in a while something slipped through and Papyrus caught on. “Yeah, bro?”  
  
 _No. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t look as worried as I feel. Please._  
  
“Are you worried about the human, too?” Papyrus’ gaze moved toward the door, and his booted feet shifted slightly. “They’ve been acting rather strangely, and... I’m starting to fear that their life may be going down a dangerous path.”  
  
 _A dangerous path._  
  
Sans let his eyes slip briefly closed, images of the readings on the timeline monitor flickering through his head. _I don’t want to tell him. I’d rather let him live the last day of his life without realizing that everything is going to end, and everything he’s ever worked toward will never come true._  
  
“O-ho!” In glowing contrast to his own dark thoughts, Papyrus’ voice was as exuberant and confident as ever. “That IS the problem, isn’t it? You’ve been so worried about this human, you couldn’t even think about making your bed!”  
  
His plastic-armored chest puffed out, and his gloved hand planted itself over his sternum in a dramatic gesture of bravado. “Well, fear not, brother! I, the great Papyrus, have come up with a plan! I shall find the human. And befriend them! I will get them back on the straight and narrow, and then you can finally stop worrying and start turning that strange, creasy ball into a properly made bed!”  
  
The naive, friendly words sent a knife through Sans’ exhausted heart, and he wondered if Papyrus had seen his smile falter. “That’s, uh...”  
  
 _That’s suicide. I should stop him. I HAVE to stop him._  
  
 _But is there even a point?_  
  
The realization hit him like a sledgehammer made of ice, and he felt his soul freeze and shatter. _If everyone is going to die, and everything will end, does he have to be alive to see it?_  
  
 _Does he have to watch his hopes die one by one, and find out what it feels like when the world ends?_  
  
 _...No._  
  
It took more effort than the lazy side of him liked to put into anything to keep his hands from trembling, but with a fierce and desperate act of will, he managed it.  
  
 _No, I... I don’t want to lose him. But this timeline looks like it’s going to become a living hell. Either it will reset like it always does, and he’ll come back to life and forget everything, or the resets will stop and the world will end._  
  
 _Either way, if his plan fails, he doesn’t need to stick around to see the results._  
  
“That’s a good plan, bro.” He was surprised by how steady his voice sounded, in this moment when everything inside him was trembling. “If there’s anyone who could stop someone super strong by being nice, it’s you.”  
  
The younger skeleton practically glowed, and Sans tried to conceal the ache inside.  
  
Why couldn’t that innocence and happiness last forever, and that tireless goodness be rewarded with something other than imprisonment, futility and death?  
  
Papyrus was striking a pose again, one of those exaggeratedly valiant postures that only his brother could truly pull off. “Thank you, brother! I promise I won’t let you down! Soon, everything will be fine, and you’ll be able to focus on your laundry again!”  
  
“I know, bro. I...” _Don’t break, don’t break, please voice, don’t break..._ “I’m rooting for ya.”  
  
As Papyrus dashed from the room, his scarf flying heroically in his wake, Sans let his eyes press closed, and the fingers that clenched around his knees finally began to shake.  
  
 _If he dies, then please... for once, I’m actually hoping for it... please..._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
He knew he should scatter the dust on something. Should gather it up from the snow, and put it somewhere safe.  
  
But right now, Sans couldn’t even bring himself to touch what was left of the only family he’d still had.  
  
 _Please… as much as I hate that time keeps going backward, I’m begging you, please…_  
  
 _Be a timeline that gets reset._  
  
 _Let me see him again._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 4, Last Corridor_  
  
The flower was watching the battle this time – or perhaps the right word was “again”. Without any way to remember the previous battles, Alphys couldn’t tell, and she lacked Sans’ finely honed ability to read people’s thoughts in their faces.  
  
But even without his level of skill, she could see the worry on the plant’s unnatural face, a distress that bordered on pain. She just wished she could tell which combatant was the target of its concern.  
  
The human was lunging at Sans again, sending her heart into her throat, and a knot twisted in her stomach as she considered just how easily a single blow could rob her friend of the one precious HP that kept his fragile body together.  
  
 _I should be out there._  
  
She knew it would be pointless; her specialty lay in the field of machines, not mortal combat. She would probably just get in the way, or be one more person to die before Sans’ tragedy-weary eyes.  
  
But it felt so wrong, to see his frail form in the path of an opponent who’d murdered Undyne in a single blow. Even as Sans sidestepped the attack, a skill and speed he concealed from most people evading the strike with ease, the ever-present knot of guilt coiled tighter in Alphys’ throat.  
  
“Our reports showed a massive anomaly in the timespace continuum. Timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting… until suddenly, everything ends. Heh heh heh.. that’s your fault, isn’t it?”  
  
If she had to guess, Alphys would say the child had heard those words before. Their expression was dull and resigned, like they were merely waiting out a lecture that had already been overused.  
  
And yet, a hint of confusion lingered in their face, as if despite having heard his speech before, they still didn’t understand what he was talking about.  
  
 _Are they as confused as we are? Do they not know how the world will end, or how they could have caused it?_  
  
 _Oh no…_  
  
A knife of realization slammed into her heart, and sick fear writhed through her gut like a nest of agitated snakes. _ARE they even the one who causes it? If not, then we… are we wasting precious time trying to stop the wrong person?_  
  
The thought was so appalling that after a few suffocating moments, she had to remind herself to breathe. But even as she dragged the air into her lungs, she found herself wondering if there was a point in doing so.  
  
 _Even if Sans gets this human to stop, will the world end anyway if they let time go on far enough?_  
  
 _Is THAT what the resets are about?_  
  
The sudden revelation made her mind spin, and she almost considered running upstairs to retrieve her phone on a desperate impulse to call her friend and warn him about the possibility before remembering he was too busy fighting to talk.  
  
 _Is that why they keep going back in time? Because they know the end is coming, and they’ve been trying to delay the inevitable?_  
  
 _Is that why they’re killing everyone? Because with no future to look toward, they’ve got nothing to do but try every possible way to keep busy in the present?_  
  
 _Has… has the human given up, even more than Sans?_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 2_  
  
It was a beautiful night outside. Stars were shining, flowers were blooming, newly-freed monsters were starting to explore the surface of the mountain, and Sans’ mind was still aglow with memories of Papyrus losing his mind with excitement over every little detail.  
  
The mountain air was gloriously crisp and clear, and as the skeleton drew in a deep breath of it, he felt his grin widen.  
  
 _We’re actually on the surface. We’re actually FREE._  
  
 _Six hours ago, seeing the sunset seemed like a “maybe someday years from now” dream, and around four hours ago, I actually SAW it._  
  
 _Heh… I wonder what Papyrus is seeing right now. Probably the end credits of the last episode of_ Madoka Magica _, if Alphys had her way._  
  
All these years after she’d found a slightly damaged version of the first movie in the dump, Alphys had been very vocally delighted to discover that the entire series could be seen on the human internet, with no disc scratches to get in the way of her full enjoyment of it.  
  
In light of this thrilling discovery, there was no way Undyne was going to let her favorite pupil miss out on the emotional trauma that the anime was apparently going to inflict.  
  
 _I’d be worried, but Alphys knows how I feel about Papyrus watching depressing stuff. I’m sure she’ll keep it down to a dull roar. Besides, this could be a chance for her and Papyrus to bond over anime, and he can finally fulfill his dream of having her as a friend._  
  
So many hopes and dreams, coming true all around him. Including some of his own.  
  
To his sincere surprise, Sans was actually looking forward to the celebratory picnic they had planned for that night. _Looking forward_ to it, instead of wondering if the timeline would last long enough for it to even happen.  
  
It was a feeling he’d almost given up on ever having again. And yet, here it was, bubbling inside him like a newly-formed spring of a special kind of joy that no monster who’d been ignorant of the time loops could ever truly understand.  
  
On days like this, kids like Frisk, the person responsible for all this happiness… should not be suddenly freezing like that.  
  
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them do it. Once in a while, he’d watched the human come limping to a nondescript yet strangely specific point, stare it at for a moment, and then walk away rejuvenated, with their health fully restored.  
  
But this time, something was different.  
  
No. Not different.  
  
Something was _wrong_.  
  
This time, the child didn’t look refreshed or even neutral. One moment, they’d been smiling: a sad, tear-stained expression that was muted by recent pain, but a smile nonetheless.  
  
A second later, their whole demeanor changed. In an instant, their smile disappeared, their arms and shoulders shrank against their torso, and their entire body began to shake, consumed by an agonized paroxysm of grief and fear.  
  
Alarm clenched its fist around Sans’ chest, and he took a step toward them, deliberately keeping his voice low and calm to avoid further frightening the child. “Kid? Is something wrong?”  
  
They turned their face fully toward him, and their expression sent a bolt of sick horror through the hollow space below his rib cage.  
  
 _That look on their face... that’s the look of someone who just died... how many times?_  
  
A chill of horror swept through him. _I can’t tell. I think the kid just died and went back in time, and… I can’t even tell how many times it’s happened._  
  
They were staring at him now, mute and quivering, as if they were could barely process the pain, relief and terror that were clashing in their eyes.  
  
As if they were staring at a person who had just come back from the dead, and were waiting for him to die again.  
  
Sans took another step toward his friend, pity mingling with alarm as he watched child tremble. “Kid, talk to me. That expression... it’s like you just died.”  
  
For a second, they seemed startled by his guess, like they hadn’t expected him to figure it out on his own. Their mouth opened silently, their body getting ahead of a mind that was still searching for elusive words, and Sans closed his eyes.  
  
“This isn’t the first time you’ve died in this timeline, is it?”  
  
The simple question seemed to anchor them, and Frisk shook their head, gripping the inquiry as if it were a sturdy tree in a windstorm.  
  
Now that they were starting to respond, the skeleton decided to press forward. “You didn’t look this worried after any of the other times I saw you. What was different this time?”  
  
The young human’s eyes squeezed shut, their lips pressing together as they tried to hold back tears. Their arms wrapped around their torso, squeezing like a pair of boa constrictors too hurt to do anything but curl in on themselves, and when they replied, their voice was a soft, broken whisper.  
  
“Sans, it… it wasn’t just me. _Everybody_ died, and… I think it was my fault.”


	4. Fatal Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deadly new player is introduced, and even the time traveling immortal is terrified.

_Timeline 4_  
  
The human was bleeding from their nose, the result of a misstep during his opening volley. He’d managed to catch them off guard with the timing of his first blue attack, and in the wake of their face’s collision with the floor, a thin trail of crimson traced a livid path across their lips and chin.  
  
The sight struck Sans as ironic. Earlier that day, before he’d realized how bad things were, he’d been thinking of taking them to Grillby’s. Pranking them with ketchup, buying them food, earning their trust.  
  
Changing their mind, with something other than violence.  
  
And then, that plan had turned into a grimly humorous decision to stuff a ketchup-filled whoopee cushion into his rib cage, in case they attacked him with enough force to crack the fragile, faltering magic that held his bones together.  
  
Who knew… maybe the sight of him covered with something resembling blood would bother them.  
  
Or maybe the person who had killed Papyrus while he offered them mercy, and who’d slain the human-shaped Mettaton in one brutal strike, would be immune to carnage that resembled the death of a member of their own species.  
  
Like so many other things he did, he doubted the action would have any meaningful consequences, so he’d done it just for the heck of it.  
  
Now, as the child ignored the blood on their face in favor of attacking him, Sans found himself wondering how a person so young had ended up like this.  
  
 _How did a child who’s probably not even a teenager yet get this used to killing and being killed?_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 2_  
  
The mountain ledge was covered in dust.  
  
Coils of smoke rose slowly from the ruins of a broken oven, and the half-burnt pot of spaghetti lay splattered across the uncaring stone.  
  
The dust was starting to congeal, gathered into grimy lumps by the blood that flowed into the nearest mound. Sharp, labored gasps raked their way through Frisk’s heaving chest, and the spasm that sent blood spraying from their mouth was more a sob than a cough.  
  
Their small, quivering hand rose to press itself against the wound in their torso, and with a desperate effort, they began to push themselves upright, swaying drunkenly to their knees before staggering to their feet.  
  
 _Stop… stop. I have to… I… I have to stop…_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 4_  
  
“Hm. That expression…”  
  
Sans made a show of studying the look on the human’s weary face, but the timeline charts had already done his analysis work for him. “That’s the expression of someone who’s died seven times in a row.  
  
“Hey, that’s good. Seven’s supposed to be a lucky number. Maybe you’ll hit the jackpot…”  
  
His own words send dread coursing through his soul, but he forced himself to smile wider as he spoke. “And that number will increase a hundredfold.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 2_  
  
“We got lucky that time.”  
  
As Flowey had expected, Frisk instantly rounded on him. “Lucky?!” they half-yelled, baffled rage mingling with fear in the shaking voice of a soul on the verge of snapping. “I almost lost my save file! How is that lucky?!”  
  
The flower’s face remained calm, but somewhere amid the gray mush of his own half-felt emotions, dread and regret coiled themselves around his answering words. “Lucky you DIDN’T lose your save file. Look…”  
  
His eyes turned down and away, subconsciously avoiding a reaction he wasn’t looking forward to. “This situation is getting desperate. We might need to take drastic measures.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 4_  
  
“To be blunt, it makes it kind of hard to give it my all. Or is that just a poor excuse for being lazy? Hell if I know.”  
  
The human’s dodging was worse than he’d expected. He’d thought they could do better than this.  
  
Was their victory against Undyne, narrow though it had been, really that dependent on getting to know her attack patterns?  
  
Or was the trembling in their hands, and the way their feet faltered as his words washed over them, a sign that he was getting through?  
  
If nothing else, it made him think this was the first time they’d heard him utter that phrase. The first time they’d connected his laziness with its source, and realized that source was them.  
  
 _As if you care._  
  
 _Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you do, but not enough._  
  
His weary eye sockets fell closed, and his hands rose in a shrug.  
  
 _Hell if I know._  
  
“All I know is… seeing what comes next…” Hopeless dread forced his eyes open, yet even as he probed his tormentor’s expression, his mouth insisted on concealing his pain behind that wide, indelible grin. “I can’t afford not to care anymore.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 2_  
  
 _I can’t believe it._  
  
The darkness of the save screen hovered around them, enveloping senses that just seconds ago had been filled with unfathomable pain.  
  
Pain that had all been for nothing. Even after they’d gone so far, and sacrificed so much…  
  
 _I can’t believe even that power wasn’t enough. We were supposed to be invincible! But it didn’t even…_  
  
 _Wait..._  
  
There was no sound behind Frisk, yet every part of their soul screamed that something was coming. Like footsteps sensed rather than heard, or unfelt hands closing around their back and shoulders.  
  
Their head whipped around in a swirl of fear, but even as they tried to turn, it was too late.  
  
Pain exploded through their soul, ripping through the ghostly form that they wore in the space between life and death. Even as a scream rose in their mind, an all-too-familiar form strode into view.  
  
 _No. Not you. Please, not here…_  
  
The intruder was smiling now, the thrill of victory shining in those dreadful eyes, and as Frisk’s consciousness began to dissolve, the last thing they felt was their soul sending the command to continue.  
  
 _I have to reload my save. I have to go back to before this happened._  
  
 _And next time, I…_  
  
Even as their soul reentered their body, Frisk felt their whole being shudder.  
  
 _This time, I’ll have to try something even more insane._


	5. Surrendered Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans unleashes his special attack on the deadly time traveler, while Frisk and Alphys struggle beneath the weight of their failures and guilt.

_Timeline 4_  
  
“Hm, that expression… that’s the expression of someone who’s died ten times in a row!”  
  
Enough times that their face, which had been written with pain before they entered New Home, was starting to go flat. Repetition had drained the emotion from their features, and for what was starting to feel like the thousandth time, Sans wondered what could possibly be worth such sacrifice and self-destruction.  
  
At least for him, becoming as jaded as he was hadn’t been so thoroughly self-inflicted.  
  
“Hey, congrats!” he continued. “It’s the big one-oh! Let’s invite all your friends over for a big shindig. We can have pie, and hot dogs, and…”  
  
And the mention of those foods struck a chord. The note was soft, carefully muted in the human’s face, but he could sense its presence in their stance.  
  
The pie did not surprise him. He could smell it on them, after all. But the hot dogs… _So we WERE on good enough terms for me to sell them hot dogs in past timelines._  
  
 _And yet, now…_ “Hmmm… wait. Something’s not right.”  
  
His eye sockets darkened, and part of him was surprised by how much his opponent’s body tightened in response to his next words.  
  
“You don’t have any friends.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 2_  
  
“You’re letting them die?”  
  
Flowey had not seen this coming. He’d wholeheartedly believed that Frisk would stand their ground to the bitter end, refusing to budge until even the abstract concept of despair gave up and knelt before them.  
  
There had been a bored, jaded time when he would’ve been thrilled to be so surprised. Now, his petals were curling with disappointment and fear.  
  
But then Frisk shook their head, the familiar flare of determination burning through the resignation that had darkened their face, and his spirits flickered up again.  
  
“No,” they answered firmly. “I mean, not forever. But… there’s something I have to do first.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 4_  
  
 _How many turns does it take to exhaust a human?_  
  
 _More than it takes to wear out a skeleton, it seems._  
  
Weariness was starting to seep into Sans’ bones, draining the speed from his movements. As he ducked beneath the flashing blade, he felt a sickening tug on his hood, and the rasp of tearing fabric told him how narrowly he’d dodged his inexorably approaching death.  
  
 _I can’t keep going like this. I need to stall them. Need to rest._  
  
 _Need to find out if what I keep seeing in them can be brought back to the surface._  
  
“Ugh…” Stumbling to a halt, he spun quickly to face his assailant, unwilling to leave them outside his line of sight for more than an instant. To his relief, they were breathing as hard as he was – possibly harder – and sweat was pouring from their dazed, exhausted face.  
  
 _Please be as tired of this as I am._  
  
“That being said,” the skeleton panted, shuffling his slippered feet back into their familiar pose, “You, uh, really like swinging that thing around, huh?”  
  
They tried to smile, but the attempt fell flat, and that failure gave Sans hope. “Listen. I know you didn't answer me before, but... somewhere in there. I can feel it. There's a glimmer of a good person inside of you. The memory of someone who once wanted to do the right thing.”  
  
 _It’s true. I really can see it. In the guilt on your face, the regret in your stance, the reluctance in your movements. So please, don’t keep covering it up. Don’t put that mask back on._  
  
 _And don’t… look at me… as if you’re suddenly, weirdly afraid?_  
  
Sans kept his stare trained steadily on the child’s face, forcing himself to keep making eye contact despite the temptation to search for clues in every part of their body language as he continued. “Someone who, in another time, might have even been... a friend?  
  
Their hands were trembling now, and the deep, sharp inhalation that ducked into their chest sounded less like a breath than a sob. Longing blazed in their eyes, shining desperately through the veil they struggled to keep over their features, and Sans knew the answer to his question before he even asked.  
  
“C'mon, buddy. Do you remember me?”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 3_  
  
“Do I know that person?”  
  
As Papyrus questioned his brother about his own half-felt knowledge of timelines lost to oblivion, Frisk closed their eyes and let the words wash over them.  
  
The tide was cool and calming in its friendly familiarity, yet it burned with the cruel reminder of what had been lost.  
  
“Do you not know who you know?”  
  
The answer was so mischievously Sans-like that it sent a wrenching, agonized twist through the child’s chest.  
  
 _Yes, Papyrus… Sans… you do know me. Or you did. And I still know you._  
  
 _But now…_  
  
Burning pain rose in their eyes, and they bit the inside of their cheek in a desperate effort to press down the tears that were flooding through their soul.  
  
 _Now, I still remember, but everything we shared together is gone._  
  
 _And the process of remaking it feels more and more hollow every time._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Timeline 4_  
  
“Please, if you’re listening… let’s forget all of this, OK?” _Or at least, reset and let_ me _forget._  
  
Light flashed around the room as the blade’s reflective surface shook in the child’s unsteady hand, and Sans kept the dagger in his periphery as he forced himself to hold eye contact. “Just lay down your weapon, and…”  
  
And he couldn’t promise them anything better than this one painful opportunity.  
  
Another reason to never make promises.  
  
“Well, my job will be a lot easier.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Do you mean it, Sans?_  
  
In the darkened lab, it took Alphys several seconds and a sharp burning in her chest to realize she was holding her breath. _Do you really remember being friends with the person who killed Undyne? I…_  
  
 _I…_  
  
Liquid fire welled in her eyes, and as her gaze fell from the monitor, the royal scientist found herself blinking back tears. _I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I know the feeling._  
  
 _At first, while I monitored them through my cameras, I felt like I was watching an old friend. Or a distorted echo of one. And I couldn’t understand why they were acting the way they were._  
  
 _It seemed wrong, out of character, as if I were watching Undyne run crying from a fight._  
  
 _Is this feeling real?_ Her eyes returned to the other screen, where the timeline chart still glowed blood red, ominous black, and stark, deathly white.  
  
 _In one of those other timelines... were we really friends?_  
  
 _If so… why?! Why would they do all this? Was it something we…_  
  
The all-too-familiar feeling of horror and guilt jolted violently through her gut, and her mind strayed to the paraphernalia that was scattered upstairs.  
  
Game show prompts. Jetpack parts. ‘Human soul substitute’.  
  
All the things she’d planned to use in her callous, selfish charade with Mettaton.  
  
 _Was it something_ I _did? Did me using them like that convince them that monsters deserve this?_  
  
 _No. No, no, please no…_  
  
Her eyes returned to the screen that showed the battleground, flashing with fear, desperation and guilt. _Human, please, listen to him. If you really were our friend once, please don’t take my mistakes out on Sans._  
  
 _I know he wouldn’t have hurt you. He’s a good person, unlike me. Please don’t punish him for my failures._  
  
 _Please…_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Clinnnnk_.  
  
The ring of metal on tile sang through the room, and shock flashed through every fiber in Frisk’s body. _What-_  
  
Their startled glance jolted to the floor, blurring for a moment before regaining focus, and amid the storm that had engulfed their mind, part of them wondered when the dagger had slipped from their burning, sweat-slicked hand.  
  
One moment, it had been scorching their trembling fingers, painful and far too heavy to hold, like a heated brand made of lead.  
  
The next, it was lying on the floor, looking as defeated as its wielder felt.  
  
 _After all that…_ Visions of dying monsters flashed through their mind, keeping time with the suffocating throb in their chest. _In spite of everything…_  
  
 _I still failed._  
  
Exhaustion swept through their soul, and a tremor in their legs warned them that their knees were about to buckle. Their entire body shook like a doll in the hand of a sadist, and part of them wondered if they’d even be able to pick up the dagger if they tried.  
  
“You’re sparing me?”  
  
The skeleton’s startled voice shook them from their thoughts, and with an effort, they raised their head to look at him. And immediately wished they hadn’t.  
  
Sans’ smile had reached his eye sockets for the first time that day, and part of them warmed at the sight of the flicker of relief they had created.  
  
The rest of them screamed with terrified self-loathing at their own weakness.  
  
“Finally.” Sans was still talking, and they forced themselves to pay attention. “Buddy. Pal.”  
  
 _Don’t call me that. Please. Not now._  
  
“I know how hard it must be… to make that choice. To go back on everything you’ve worked up to.”  
  
 _You don’t. You really, really don’t. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how important the thing you were trying for was… you still have no idea…_  
  
“I want you to know… I won’t let it go to waste.”  
  
 _But Sans, you don’t have a choice. I have to… I… I have to…_  
  
But then the skeleton lifted both his hands, extending them toward the shaking human in a warm, familiar invitation. “C’mere, pal.”  
  
And with that, the dam finally broke. The sob that had been building in their throat burst forth, guilt and longing crashing through them with a force that nearly drove them to their knees, and warmth spilled across their cheeks as the ocean that had been rising in their eyes overflowed.  
  
Without even choosing to take the step, they found themselves moving closer to him, a part of their body they could no longer control straining toward the offered embrace.  
  
 _I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t… but I really need-_  
  
“ _Are you offering a hug of acceptance?”_  
  
Within five feet of Sans, the echo of a murdered brother’s words struck the child full in the face, slamming into their trembling soul like a boulder thrown by Undyne. A painful gasp broke from their lungs, then withered into a whimper as their arms constricted around their aching chest.  
  
 _I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be hugged._  
  
 _I… IIIIIEEEAAAAAAAHH!_  
  
Agony blasted through their senses, overwhelming every conscious thought and transforming the stammering word into a desperate, soundless scream.  
  
The world blurred before their eyes, and Sans’ frozen smile turned to fuzz before stretching into a dizzy white streak as the human’s stare fell toward the bone attacks that had erupted through their feet.  
  
No… not just their feet. Their entire body. Every cell was screaming, and everything hurt.  
  
 _This…_  
  
The world began to fall away, fading into the familiar darkness of the save screen, and Frisk let their wide, stunned eyes slip closed as the distant murmur of Sans’ voice faded into the void.  
  
“If we’re really friends, you won’t come back.”  
  
Of course he didn’t want them to. Even if they really had been friends.  
  
 _This, I do deserve._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
“Golly, pal. I’ve got to know. What did you expect?”  
  
As the two of them hovered in the dark, the unique consciousnesses of a pair of time travelers lingering in the hollow space between life and death, Frisk allowed their eyes to fall closed.  
  
What, indeed. From Flowey, or from Sans.  
  
In the flower’s case, maybe a bit more sympathy from their ‘best friend’.  
  
But that was delusional, wasn’t it? Expecting compassion from someone who was fundamentally incapable of it, at a time when they couldn’t even give it to themselves.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Their voice was a hollow, husky whisper, as dull as the feelings that lay lifeless in their chest. _What WAS I thinking?_  
  
 _I guess I wasn’t. I’m just… I’m just so tired, and everything hurts so much._  
  
“You know he’s trying to get you to reset. He thought he was helping you go back in time.” The flower’s brow tightened with grim resignation, and his intense stare seemed to bore into Frisk, willing them to understand. “And you also know you’ve got to go back in there.”  
  
A painful, silent moan wound its way through their chest, and their mouth pressed tightly shut to avoid letting it escape.  
  
 _Don’t let them hear you scream. Don’t let them hear you cry._  
  
 _Don’t let them know you felt anything._  
  
“Frisk.” Flowey’s voice was firmer, more insistent now, and its urgency was pierced by a sliver of anxiety. “You know what happens if you don’t go back.”  
  
“Yeah. I know.” _I know, but I don’t want to move. I know my body will go back to being less tired when I reload my save, but for now, I’m tired. So tired._  
  
“The longer you think about it, the longer it will take, and the longer you’ll have to keep suffering. The best thing to do now is just get it over with.”  
  
He was right, of course. Frisk was really starting to hate it when Flowey was right.  
  
 _Remember, Frisk. Remember why you’re doing this._  
  
With the resolute push of a will that now had to strain to perform a task that had once come automatically, Frisk dragged themselves into the light, reflexively falling into the rhythm of the step they’d been in the middle of when they last saved.  
  
 _Yes, Sans. You were right. I remember being your friend._  
  
The door to Asgore’s house yawned around them, and Frisk pushed themselves forward, treading the now-familiar ground with a deliberately steady stride.  
  
 _I remember so many things. But I also remember why I have to do this, and why I absolutely cannot let you find out._


	6. Revenge?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans is almost too exhausted to fight, and Frisk makes decision he never saw coming.

_Timeline 4_  
  
 _This doesn’t make sense._  
  
Not many things about this day made sense. But unlike the human’s unnatural stats and inadequately-masked guilt, this anomaly did not give Sans hope.  
  
Instead, sick terror was crawling through his rib cage, like an army of spiders scrambling in a mad cross between a stampede and a funeral procession.  
  
A few feet away from him, the human lay panting on the ground, bloody and bruised but alive. _Alive_ , despite his desperate efforts to force himself to keep attacking as their small, vulnerable-looking body began to break beneath his assault.  
  
To keep on slamming them against the pillars, ceiling and floor, while the blood on their lips gave him strange flashbacks of a ketchup-smeared face smiling at him in the familiar warmth of Grillby’s.  
  
Despite him having hit them with everything he could force himself to give, leaving him with no more than the barest flicker of magical energy with which to defend himself.  
  
Despite the fact that the timeline chart said they should be dead.  
  
They were starting to move their limbs again, that cursed, relentless determination dragging them back into motion in spite of their injuries. As their bloody, dust-sprinkled hands braced themselves on the floor, Sans frantically searched his memories of the timeline readings, struggling to figure out what had gone wrong.  
  
 _It wasn’t supposed to end this soon. There were supposed to be thousands of refights after this. I shouldn’t have lost this early._  
  
 _Did I screw up somehow? Did I hesitate when I could’ve attacked harder, or miss an opening I could’ve taken advantage of?_  
  
 _Have I doomed us all… or at least, made our doom come a bit ahead of schedule?_  
  
In a moment of bitter, hopeless mirth, the thought was almost enough to make him chuckle.  
  
All this fear, all this hope, all this effort… just to delay something that, according to their readings, had as good as already happened.  
  
 _Well… it’s not like I have anything better to do with my last few minutes. Besides, I still have one thing left to try. Is this really the thing that stalls them for so many attempts?_  
  
 _Time to find out._  
  
A few quick, deep breaths supplied him with enough air to begin to quell his panting, and Sans forced himself to sound confident as he spoke. “All right. That’s it. It’s time for my special attack. Are you ready?  
  
“Here goes nothing.”  
  
Tension raced through the human’s body and they staggered desperately to their feet, swaying and staggering on the verge of collapse as they braced themselves for another violent salvo. Alarm was flashing in their eyes, but they looked like they were closer to passing out than panicking.  
  
Too bad Sans felt the same way.  
  
The seconds seemed to stretch like hours, hovering in the dark, wary space that separated the two exhausted warriors, and Sans watched with a weary echo of amusement as confusion began to seep into his opponent’s expression.  
  
“Yup. That’s right.”  
  
His voice caused their face to snap toward him, halting the glances they’d begun to cast in search of an escape route. “It’s literally nothing. And it’s not going to be anything, either. Heh heh heh… ya get it?”  
  
From the slowly dawning expression on their face, it looked like they did. Surprise, understanding, admiration…  
  
No. Surely not.  
  
 _That look on their face… it almost looks like..._ fondness _?_  
  
 _If looks could speak, that one would say something like “that’s such a Sans thing to do”. Only without the hilarious screaming Papyrus would use to say it._  
  
 _I wonder… is it possible to be bored enough that you can decide to kill someone just to see what happens, even if you still like them?_  
  
 _If that’s their idea of liking someone, I’ll pass._  
  
They were looking around again, and this time, their glance fell on the dagger that his final series of blue attacks had knocked out of their hand. It was lying just outside the battle box, and he didn’t like the way they were staring at it.  
  
Time to reclaim their attention. “I know I can’t beat you. One of your turns... you're just gonna kill me.”  
  
Their eyes fell, as if hearing their intentions put into words stung in a way that the battle itself had somehow failed to.  
  
 _Well, too bad, kid. Words are all we have left now._  
  
“So, uh. I've decided... it's not gonna BE your turn. Ever. I'm just gonna keep having MY turn until you give up. Even if it means we have to stand here until the end of time. Capiche?”  
  
 _Wow._ He’d meant to catch them off guard, but he’s never expected that his threat would actually _scare_ them. And yet, fear was flooding across their face, and this time their hasty side-to-side glance bordered on frantic.  
  
 _Are you really that scared of being bored? Or…_  
  
The image of the timeline chart flickered through his mind again, and this time it was his turn to feel uneasiness trickling through his nonexistent gut. _If they’re the cause of that sudden ending, we should be fine as long as they stay here._  
  
 _But if they aren’t…_  
  
They were making a dash for the knife now, and Sans broke his train of thought for long enough to teleport them back to the center of the battle box.  
  
 _If they AREN’T the cause of that… are they scared I’m going to keep them here long enough for the end to happen?_  
  
 _Am I making a mistake?_  
  
 _Time to do more face-reading._  
  
“You'll get bored here. If you haven't gotten bored already, I mean. And then, you'll finally quit.”  
  
Annoyance flashed across their face, as if the insinuation that boredom would make them quit offended them somehow. _Are you mad because I figured out that you’re vulnerable to boredom, because you think you’re too tough to be thwarted by boredom, or because I accused you of having a pettier reason than you really have?_  
  
“I know your type,” he continued, forcing himself to focus on the human’s face even as a presence somewhere behind him made his spine crawl.  
  
Probably the flower responsible for him knowing their type. Not important right now. He hoped.  
  
“You're, uh, very determined, aren't you? You'll never give up, even if there's, uh... absolutely no benefit to persevering whatsoever. If I can make that clear.”  
  
Another teleport, and the mask was back, as solid as it was translucent. The facade that tried to silence its own unspoken scream that there was something he was missing, and that they completely refused to tell him what it was.  
  
“No matter what, you'll just keep going. Not out of any desire for good or evil... but just because you think you can. And because you ‘can’... you ‘have to’.”  
  
That silent scream was getting louder, and the human was moving toward the dagger again, studiously ignoring him as they focused on the task at hand.  
  
 _Ping._  
  
This time, when they reappeared in the center of the box, they didn’t even break stride. The sight sent alarm flashing through Sans’ soul, and this time, when he teleported them back, he made a note of how much energy it took and now much he had left.  
  
He didn’t like what he felt.  
  
“But now, you’ve reached the end,” he pointed out, desperately trying to sound confident in a claim that he knew was a bluff. “There is nothing left for you now. So, uh, in my personal opinion…” _Yeah, THAT sounded convincing._ “The most ‘determined’ thing you can do here? Is to, uh, completely give up. And…”  
  
He hadn’t meant to yawn. But it felt like his energy was physically leaking from his bones, and dizzy darkness circled him like a blanket, inviting him to sink into it. “…do literally anything else,” he concluded, silently begging them to comply.  
  
 _Please give up. Or pass out. Preferably before I do._  
  
 _Please, do_ anything _but keep going for that dagger._  
  
 _I can’t keep this up._  
  
Another attempt, another teleportation. The human was looking frustrated now, and the last fading flicker of hope in Sans’ mind silently begged them to get annoyed enough to do something less aggravating with their time.  
  
 _Step, step, step, ping…_  
  
Their movements had turned into a steady march, eerie and inexorable despite the slight limp that marred their gait, and Sans began to sway as he struggled to stay standing.  
  
 _Stop, stop, please stop…_  
  
He didn’t know when his eyelids fell shut.  
  
Didn’t know when the human pressed their hands against the battle box, hard enough to push it first to the dagger and then toward him.  
  
His brief lapse from consciousness only ended when the sound of footsteps stopped far too close to him, and the livid flare of a crimson soul blazed through the bone sheaths that covered his eye sockets.  
  
Terror exploded through every inch of his being, and his eyes flew open, wide with alarm as the shining blade descended.  
  
Even as his screaming instincts flung him away from the human, the sound of the impact sent shock reeling through his body. Red trailed from the blade in the wake of the strike, and for a moment, all Sans could do was stare at his opponent in silent, stunned bewilderment.  
  
 _Kid… why?!_  
  
Coils of vermilion licked the air like tongues of flame, flickering on the torn edges of a bisected soul.  
  
A bisected, broken _human_ soul.  
  
Glowing spiderwebs ran through the destroyed heart shape like cracks in a jar of molten lava, the light of the human’s formidable power shining brighter than ever as the culmination of their being began to shatter.  
  
The dagger fell from their hand, clattering on the hard tile floor, and with an effort, Sans lifted his gaze from the weapon and looked the human in the eye.  
  
 _I don’t understand. Why did you do that?_  
  
 _And why… are you smiling?_  
  
It wasn’t like the smile they’d given him earlier. Not a clearly fake attempt to look more gleeful than they were.  
  
Instead, this expression looked almost… peaceful. Happy. Relieved.  
  
Like a brief reprieve from a burden that would shatter along with their soul.  
  
For an instant, questions flashed through Sans’ mind, reeling before his mental eyes like pages in a hurricane.  
  
Then, as the world began to go dark, a few of them finally crystallized, a mocking flash of clarity just before his memory of it vanished.  
  
 _So this is why the battle takes so long. Do they do this every time?_  
  
 _If so, I wonder what finally makes them stop._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
“Golly, Frisk! You pretty much had him!”  
  
He hadn’t expected them to be happy about it. At least here, in the privacy of the save screen, they didn’t have to pretend.  
  
But he hadn’t expected them to ignore him, either.  
  
As the human’s silence stretched on, Flowey angle his head sideways, curiosity dragging the words from his mouth even as a corner of his mind questioned whether or not he should say them. “For a moment there, I really thought you were going to take a swing at him. I mean, he really smashed you up.”  
  
“Heh.” The sound was soft and lifeless, as if their voice and emotions were making a halfhearted attempt to drag themselves back from the dead.  
  
And yet, their face held something that couldn’t quite be called a smile, but was perhaps the bitter echo of one: the same sad, humorless mirth that had fueled Sans’ wisecracking.  
  
“Revenge, Flowey?”  
  
A trickle of disdain flowed into Frisk’s voice like poison from a tainted vial, and the edge of bitterness grew in their tone as they finally lifted their head to face him. “Have you forgotten?”  
  
They turned away, but even as the glimmer of their save point appeared in front of them, their head craned back to glance over their shoulder, and their half-flat tone was dark with resentment.  
  
“Revenge is part of how we ended up here.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
No matter how many times he saw it, Sans couldn’t help but find it strange to see his final days forecasted like this. Written in black and livid red on a stark white background, like charcoal and blood streaked across snow.  
  
Around six days of combat down. Roughly eighteen to go. It was hard to wrap his head around; he’d heard Undyne talk about glorious historical battles that lasted weeks, but the mere thought of actually engaging in one sent a premonition of exhaustion trickling through his bones.  
  
“Hey, Alphys?”  
  
The lizard tore her face away from the monitor that followed the human’s progress through the tunnels in Asgore’s basement. “Y-yes?”  
  
“How many days does it take to exhaust a human?”  
  
“Huh? Oh, uh… I’m not sure.”  
  
“Heh. I wish that didn’t make two of us.”  
  
He shrugged it off with a roll of his narrow shoulders, then returned his focus to the question at hand. “I mean, from the human’s perspective, we’ve probably been fighting for almost a week. I can’t remember the previous fights, but they remember all of them, right?”  
  
“Th-theoretically, yes.”  
  
“So that’s about six days of trying to kill me. Huh. Guess I’m better at my job than I thought. Either that, or they were tired before our fight even started, and they don’t have the energy to bring their A game to the table. Either way, you’d think they’d be starting to get bored.”  
  
“Yeah, you… you’d think…”  
  
And yet, if the chart spoke true, the determination that had carried them through almost a week of boredom would continue to drive them forward for thrice that long again.  
  
The zigzags, which had started out short, looked like they were going to peak at approximately fourteen minutes. After that, they began growing shorter, only for the start of the zigzags to move forward a bit, and the lengthening and shortening to begin all over again.  
  
 _I wonder if they found a way to skip the pre-battle stroll through Asgore’s house, and start going back to the start of our battle when they die. It’s the only part of these readings I can find an explanation for._  
  
Speaking of the battle, the human was entering the Last Corridor.  
  
Time to get back to work.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Another fourteen-minute fight. Just like the chart predicted._  
  
If only Papyrus could see him now. Fighting _and_ timing himself at the same time. The younger skeleton would probably be impressed.  
  
It would totally ruin his lazy persona.  
  
Papyrus must never know.  
  
A circle of blasters sprang into being, demonic-looking skull heads appearing and firing at a fierce, desperate pace, and the battered young human rushed to stay ahead of them.  
  
If Sans could’ve activated them all simultaneously, the battle would’ve been his. But as it was, his exhausted soul was struggling just to keep producing attacks, and generating them one after another was the best he could do.  
 _Please die, please die, please die, please die…_ _I can’t believe I’m saying this to a preteen kid, but PLEASE hurry up and die…_  
  
He couldn’t tell if they were going to or not. They were racing frantically in circles, but the brief glimpses he caught of their face didn’t speak of panic. Instead, they warned of a fierce resolve, of a person bracing themselves to do something drastic.  
  
 _I have a bad feeling ab-AAAAAAAH!_  
  
One moment, his fragile body was shielded by a torrent of searing blaster fire and the wall of the battle box.  
  
The next, a flash of flying color exploded through the beams, careening into the magic barrier with enough force to ram it into motion.  
  
The ethereal wall slid past him, leaving him suddenly exposed in the middle of his turn, and he had just enough time to gasp before his shock and alarm were violently drowned in a flood of searing pain.  
  
The sound of a blade crunching through bone seemed to reach him after a delay, as if his senses were in too much shock to process everything at once. The colors on his opponent’s shirt blurred before his eyes, blue and pink and far too close, and part of him tried to shrink away even as the rest of him froze.  
  
A haze of agony enveloped his mind, and it took a few moments for Sans to realize that the blow had thrown him onto his pelvis, leaving him slumped on the hard, cold floor.  
  
Dizziness swept through his senses, and for a few eternally stretched seconds, all he could do was press a hand to his ribs as his body heaved in a cough, forcing a spatter of ketchup through his permanently clenched teeth.  
  
 _Gh… they ripped right through the whoopee cushion… and through all one of my HP…_  
  
 _No. This can’t be right._  
  
Of course it wasn’t; nothing about the situation was right. People shouldn’t be dead, he shouldn’t be dying, and it shouldn’t have happened at the hands of someone who might, in another timeline, have been… or pretended to be… a friend.  
  
And even if it was going to happen, it shouldn’t have happened _yet._  
  
The realization struck him like a hammer to the wounded chest, and Sans felt his swiftly blurring eye sockets grow wider.  
  
 _This can’t be the end of it. Unless our readings are wrong, something stalls or kills the kid after this; the zigzags keep going for three more weeks, and I don’t think any of them lasted long enough for the human to reach and kill Asgore._  
  
 _Did something change? Is backup coming? Or…_  
  
A chill shivered through his body, groping at his injured bones like cold, invasive hands. _Are they planning to go back and do this again, of their own accord? Is this just the beginning of them killing me over and over again, for several weeks on end?_  
  
 _Why?! Did I do something in another timeline that made them hate me this much?_  
  
The idea hurt more than it should have. As if some part of him remembered a reason to care what this murderer thought of him.  
  
 _How did it come to this? What was our relationship like in past timelines? Was it something I said? Something I did... or didn’t do?_  
  
His bones were starting to soften, his willpower losing its desperate grip on his ruined body. Any second now, he’d turn into dust, and there would be nothing left between this deadly immortal and everything they’d destroy.  
  
No… not nothing. If their hatred of him would make them stay in this room to kill him again, instead of letting them move on… it was sickening, but it was better than what would happen if they kept going.  
  
With a head-spinning effort, Sans forced himself to his feet, refusing to sway even as his femurs threatened to dissolve beneath him.  
  
 _It probably doesn’t matter what I say right now. Maybe it never did. But if there’s a chance that they’re doing this just to satisfy their own curiosity, I might as well satisfy mine._  
  
Prying his hands away from his wound, he spread them in a wide shrug, staring at his murderer’s downturned eyes and mocking them with one final wink. “Welp. I’m going to Grillby’s.”  
  
The human’s head snapped up to face him, confusion flashing in a face that fought to conceal the longing and agony that burned behind their eyes.  
  
 _So they DO have memories tied to that place. Maybe even good ones._  
  
 _Did we hang out there in another timeline? Were we friends?_  
  
 _Were they pretending?_  
  
 _Did something change?_  
  
The world was starting to go dim, his vision distorting eerily as the inside of his skull began to disintegrate. The flicker of light on a camera lens caught the corner of his eye, and Sans turned away from his killer, forcing his trembling legs to work as he slowly limped away.  
  
 _Keep it together, Sans. Don’t die in front of Alphys. Don’t make them… don’t…_  
  
 _Them?_  
  
Confusion hit in a dizzy wave, and with the last of his fading mental power, Sans reached for that final unexpected clue.  
  
 _If it was purely for Alphys, I could understand it, but… why?_  
  
 _Why do I have this strange compulsion not to die in front of the kid?_  
  
He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t think. The world was starting to go white, and somewhere in the distance, a familiar figure wavered into being.  
  
“Papyrus?” _Right… I was going to Grillby’s._ “Do you… want anything?”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _Trust Sans to walk off like_ _that._  
  
As the skeleton limped out of Frisk’s line of vision, Flowey shook his head. _He never did like to let people see him vulnerable, or to make them worry._  
  
 _And in the timelines when I managed to kill him, he never wanted to give me the satisfaction of watching him die._  
  
The beaten warrior was faltering now, his legs trembling as he struggled to take those last few steps.  
  
Then his right tibia gave out, and by the time the rest of his body hit the floor, it had already dissolved into dust.  
  
“Sans…”  
  
A pained, uncertain whimper rose in the eerily still air, like the hand of a frightened child reaching for their dead parent. As the clatter of a dagger hitting the tile rang through the hall, the flower squeezed his eyes shut. _Hoo, boy. This is gonna be bad._  
  
“Sans?”  
  
The human’s voice was starting to rise, fear and denial mixing into a questioning cry of pain. “SA-”  
  
A vine lashed up from the ground, coiling around their leg and jolting their frantic dash to a halt. The startled child pitched forward, nearly planting their face on the tile, and the quick intervention of two more tendrils narrowly saved them from crashing to the floor.  
  
“Let go! Flowey, I have to-”  
  
“No.” The flower’s reply was as firm as his grasp, wrapping around the distraught young human with unyielding resolve. “You don’t need to go and look at that.”  
  
“But he wasn’t dusted; he might be-”  
  
“He’s dead.”  
  
It should have been a relief. Instead, the words seemed to tear a hole in their chest.  
  
Their hands and lips began to tremble, and a faint whimper trickled free with every shallow gasp. Their whole body seemed to be seizing up, their head strained toward the door through which Sans had vanished, and Flowey wondered how long it would take before those soft, agonized whines turned into a full-blown wail.  
  
“Frisk, look at me. You have to focus. Frisk, focus on my voice!”  
  
It took far too many seconds for his voice to register, but Frisk’s eyes finally turned toward Flowey, flashing in the early stages of a panic attack.  
  
 _This will probably just make it worse, but it has to be said._ “Frisk, you can’t break down on me here. This isn’t the final time, remember? He’ll be alive again in a few seconds, and then… you know what comes next.”  
  
Now, at last, their straining body collapsed, slumping into the grip of his vines as if their soul had left them. A moan that bordered on a wail rose from their heaving chest, and Flowey carefully stroked their back as they began to sob.  
  
“It’s just for a little while,” he reminded them, mimicking the tone his mother had used whenever he tripped and fell. “This isn’t going to last forever. But if you don’t go back and do it again, then everything you’ve done so far was for nothing.”  
  
The reminder drew a whimper and a shallow, lifeless nod. No matter how they might collapse, Flowey knew that sooner or later, they would always get back up.  
  
“I know.” The human’s answer was somewhere between a moan and a sob. “I know, it just… it hurts so much. This is _so_ much worse than dying, and it… Flowey… this isn’t who I wanted to be.”  
  
“I know.” The echoes of timelines long erased flickered through his mind, images of this very room flashing in his memory, and Flowey let his eyes fall closed. “I know.”


	7. The Person I Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk's first timeline is finally revealed. A crying child falls into the Underground, and is left to navigate a confusing and hostile world alone.

_Timeline 1_  
  
_This is it._  
  
A cloud of dazed, numb blankness flooded through Frisk’s mind, a fog that muffled every thought save a quiet inner whimper. _It’s finally happened. I’ve finally died or lost my mind._  
  
Their heart was still pounding from their long uphill run, and sweat streaked their tear-stained face in a slowly drying film. Their chest was heaving so hard that they were afraid the sound of it could be heard all the way from the surface, and dizziness swam through a mind that was struggling to process the reality that sat smiling a few feet away from them.  
  
“Howdy! I’m Flowey. Flowey the flower! Hmmm… You’re new to the Underground, aren’tcha?”  
  
_The flower is talking to me. The big yellow flower talks._  
  
“Golly, you must be so confused.”  
  
_Yes, Flowey, I am confused. You’re confusing me._  
  
_I’ve definitely lost my mind. Unless… this is what I should have expected?_  
  
The blossom was still talking, cheerfully ignoring their incredulous stare. “Someone ought to teach you how things work around here! I guess little old me will have to do. Ready? Here we go!”  
  
_Ready for- what?!_  
  
A sudden tug jolted through their chest, and a lightning bolt of panic thundered down their spine. Strange white lines spread from the ground in front of the flower’s base, forming a box around the child, and their eyes went wide as a glowing red shape emerged from their chest.  
  
“Wha- what is this?!”  
  
“That heart is your soul,” the plant explained, his chipper voice a nonsensical contrast to this day’s surreal madness. “The very culmination of your being!”  
  
“My soul?! Wh-why is it almost outside my body?!”  
  
“Because I pulled it out, silly! Don’t worry, it’s still attached. I’m just doing this to help you get stronger!”  
  
“Stronger? Why? What do you mean?” _This is insane. This total stranger who’s also a plant is tearing my soul out to help me get stronger._  
  
“Your soul starts off weak, but it can grow strong if you gain a lot of LV.”  
  
“LV? What does that stand for?”  
  
“Why, LOVE, of course! You want some LOVE, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll share some with you!”  
  
“Y… you will?” Hope tried to rise through the fear, and only almost made it to the surface. “You mean… with hugs and stuff? And maybe… putting my soul back in my body?”  
  
The way he was winking and sticking out his tongue was not reassuring.  
  
“No, silly. Down here, LOVE is shared through little white… friendliness pellets.” Even as he spoke, glowing ovals rose into the air, spinning in a semicircle above his head. Their cold white light transfixed their target, and Frisk instinctively froze, waiting for them to make their move.  
  
_They don’t… feel friendly. And even if they are…_ “I… I don’t think I can make friendliness pellets.” _What if he gives me some and then gets mad when I can’t give some back?_  
  
“That’s OK. I’ll just give you some of mine. Are you ready?”  
  
No, they weren’t. They hadn’t been ready for anything that had happened in the last few hours, let alone this surreal, otherworldly madness.  
  
But the pellets were already drifting toward them, and Frisk didn’t dare offend their source if they didn’t have to. “OK…”  
  
“Great! Now, move around! Get as many as you can!”  
  
A stumbling step brought them closer to the ominous fragments of magic, and their hand reached slowly toward the nearest one. Their fingers cautiously brushed its edge, and- “AAAAAAH!”  
  
Agony blazed through their recoiling fingers, burning an electric trail down their arm and into their soul. Their hand jolted away from the pellet, and in the haze of pain that engulfed their senses, it took them a moment to realize that they’d fallen on their back, staring up at the ceiling through a blur of unshed tears.  
  
And the flower was still talking.  
  
“You idiot.” That once-cheerful voice had warped into a rough, crackling snarl, and his scathing words came in spurts, like a radio signal filtering into a half-broken receiver. “…this world… it’s kill or be killed.”  
  
_Of course._  
  
The feeling of surreality bled away, leaving only empty, resigned acceptance. _Of course it wouldn’t be a happy fantasy world of pretty talking flowers that love me. This world is still this world._  
  
_This really is what I should have expected._  
  
A tide of numb, mute despair washed over their fear, and Flowey’s voice crashed over them in ruthless waves that pushed them ever further underwater. “Why would ANYONE pass up an opportunity like this?”  
  
_An opportunity to kill me? Is that really so good… that nobody would pass it up?_  
  
The thought was crushing, overwhelming in its horror and enormity.  
  
_How many people are in this world? Are all of them this much stronger than me?_  
  
_And ALL of them… want me dead?_  
  
_There’s… there’s no way to survive that. No reason to even_ try _, if nobody wants me to live._  
  
_But…_ In the shadow cast by the flower’s words, a flicker of flame awoke. _He could be lying. I’ve been lied to about monsters before._  
  
_I can’t give up yet._  
  
The limpness fled from their shaking limbs, and in a frantic flurry of effort, they shoved themselves to their feet. A glance around them made Frisk’s heart sink, and their renewed desire to live sent fear pounding through their chest. _I’m not ready to die yet, but his pellets are everywhere! There’s nowhere to dodge, and- they’re closing in!_  
  
As the deadly circle shrank around them, options raced through a mind that was threatening to shut down and freeze.  
  
_Can I jump over them? They look like they’re too big to go over or under, and I don’t think I can take another- uah?!_  
  
A second surge of power rushed through their chest, as potent as the last. But instead of hot and draining, this one was soothing and warm, like the fierce embrace of a mother pulling her child out of a fire.  
  
In an instant, their strength returned in full, and shock exploded through Frisk’s mind as a bolt of fire flew across the clearing, striking Flowey squarely in the side and sending him flying.  
  
And then the surreal feeling was back, along with a tide of confusion and wariness as a tall, inhuman woman hastened into view. Her worried face was covered in white fur and framed by long, floppy ears, and her purple robe rustled softly as she ran toward Frisk.  
  
“What a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth!” she exclaimed, slowing to a halt as the ethereal box shimmered out of existence. Her eyes softened as they fell to meet Frisk’s, and her mouth lifted in a smile that did its best to be reassuring despite its small, sharp fangs. “Ah, do not be afraid, my child. I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins.”  
  
_Don’t be afraid._  
  
They wanted to do as they were told. They wanted to listen and be good.  
  
But it was far too late for that.  
  
In this world of “kill or be killed”, where passing up a chance to murder a child seemed to be temporary at best, Frisk wasn’t sure they would ever dare to not be afraid again.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_She hasn’t tried to kill me yet._  
  
The hard stone floor pressed into their legs and bottom, and the soreness that threatened to seep into their muscles felt like a distant anchor, barely rooting them to reality.  
  
_She just led me around and told me to do weird things, like talk to training dummies, and pull the levers she labeled, and prove that I can walk across long rooms by myself, and…_  
  
_And she was_ proud _of me._  
  
That was the part that made their mind spin.  
  
_Even though the things she told me to do were really easy, she was still proud of me, and she tried to protect me from things that weren’t even scary, and she… held my hand…_  
  
Even now, they could feel Toriel’s huge, soft fingers wrapped gently around theirs, cradling them with protective affection that felt far more alien than her goat-like appearance ever could.  
  
The world had turned completely surreal, and if it weren’t for the harsh memory of the flower’s attack rooting them to reality, Frisk might have thought they were dreaming.  
  
As it was, they couldn’t help but wonder when the dream would end, and the waking world with which they were familiar would return to haunt them.  
  
Their eyes traversed the cracked purple walls, searching for a clock or window, but all they could find was the occasional waterfall of leaves where a vine spilled out from the stone. They weren’t sure how long Toriel had been gone, but whatever “business” she had to attend to felt like it was taking forever.  
  
_Did she get lost? Is she dead?_  
  
_Did she decide she doesn’t want me after all?_  
  
_Did Flowey kill her?_  
  
Anxiety crawled through their gut, concern for Toriel mingling with a rising fear for themselves. Before, they’d always had the sun to warn them when curfew was imminent and they needed to go inside, but now…  
  
Now, there was only a strange, twitchy tension, like they’d been out of the house too long and needed to go back before they got in trouble.  
  
But that was absurd.  
  
They couldn’t go back to that house. Not ever again.  
  
Besides, if Toriel WAS still alive, leaving the room might upset her, and they didn’t want to risk that. She’d been fairly benign so far, but they’d seen what she was capable of.  
  
Better a hard floor than a hard hit with a fireball. And it wasn’t like they had to keep sitting down.  
  
Their weary legs had had some time to recover, and as Frisk pushed themselves to their feet, they were pleasantly surprised by how steadily they could stand. _At least if I get attacked again, I might be able to run._  
  
_I wonder if I should call Toriel and make sure she’s OK. I’ve never been allowed to use a phone before, but she gave me this one, so it must be OK._  
  
_Unless I’d be calling too soon…_  
  
The phone paused its journey from their pocket, and their fingers clenched. _What if I call too soon and I’m nagging her, and she gets upset because I’m taking too much of her time?_  
  
_I should probably wait a bit longer. Maybe a couple more hours._  
  
_But what if Flowey-_  
  
Their train of thought lurched to a frozen halt, in tandem with their breath. Their trembling grip tightened on the phone, and fear flooded their body and mind as they stared at the shape that had appeared in the doorway.  
  
From his place in the ground at the entrance to the room, the flower smiled up at them.  
  
“ _Why would ANYONE pass up an opportunity like this?”_  
  
The sneering words echoed through their mind, and Frisk’s heart started trying to punch its way out of their chest, like a sailor scrambling to escape a doomed ship. Without thinking, they took a step backward, increasing the distance between the grinning plant and their vulnerable soul.  
  
“ _In this world…”_  
  
They couldn’t wait for Toriel. In a choice between “might hurt me” or “definitely wants to kill me”, the safer path was obvious.  
  
They just hoped the seemingly benign woman wouldn’t prove them wrong.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Not five seconds after they left the room, the phone rang.  
  
The sound hit like a thunderbolt of panic, and Frisk jumped so hard that they nearly dropped the device. As their trembling hand pressed the phone to their ear, they nearly forgot to hit the ‘talk’ button in their focus on not letting the machine slip from their sweat-slicked grip. “Y-yes?”  
  
“Hello? This is Toriel.”  
  
_Oh, no, oh, no, she’s gonna find out…_  
  
“You have not left the room, have you?”  
  
“Auhh…” Well, yes, but only by a few steps, and it wasn’t too late to turn back…  
  
Except that the flower had parked himself in the middle of the room, and he was still grinning at them.  
  
“There are a few puzzles ahead that I still have yet to explain,” Toriel continued. “It would be dangerous to try to solve them yourself. Be good, all right?”  
  
And just like that, she hung up, leaving Frisk strung across the bewildering gap between expectation and reality.  
  
_It sounds like she doesn’t want me to get hurt, but if she found out I was bad and didn’t listen, would she change her mind?_  
  
_I should listen… I should be good… but…_  
  
But the flower was still there.  
  
_Maybe if I tell her the flower chased me out of the room, she’ll go easy on me._  
  
_I know the flower won’t._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_I knew it. I knew reality would come back._  
  
A gleaming magic fly grazed their arm, tracing a trail of fire across their skin, and a gasp raked through Frisk’s throat as they flinched away from it. In front of them, a Froggit stared blankly ahead, insect-shaped fragments of energy floating from its frog-like body and swooping toward the human.  
  
_I don’t understand why it’s attacking me. The other one didn’t, and I didn’t do anything different this time._  
  
_But maybe some people don’t need a reason._  
  
The barrage ceased, and Frisk glanced toward the entrance of the room, where another Froggit sat staring into space. When they’d first approached it, it had given them advice about how to deter monsters without killing them, and had urged them to show mercy.  
  
But now, the once-alert creature seemed oblivious to the unprovoked assault that was happening twenty feet away from it, and it made no such request for their opponent to spare _them_.  
  
_Is it because I’m human? Toriel said monsters might attack a human in the Underground._  
  
_But… what did humans do?_  
  
_What did_ I _do?_  
  
The scent of mustard seed wafted through the air, and Frisk’s assailant let out a soft ribbit, casting questioning glances to either side as if waiting for something to happen.  
  
The child froze and held their breath, but the creature stayed in place, a look of confusion lingering on its broad amphibian features.  
  
_Does it even know why it’s doing this? It looks like it did that thing where you walk into a room and forget what you went there for._  
  
_Maybe if I do what Toriel said and have a friendly conversation, it won’t remember it was going to hurt me._  
  
“Um…”  
  
Its head snapped back toward them, and their heart slammed painfully against their chest as their breathing froze. _I made it notice me, this is bad…_  
  
_Come on, Frisk, focus and think…_ “Your, uh… flies are very pretty… when they aren’t running into me, I mean… um…”  
  
_Does it even understand what I’m saying?_  
  
It didn’t look like it did, but the lights in its dark, glossy eyes seemed to shine a little brighter. A few more flies drifted into the air, but they hesitated longer before swooping in, and their approach was slower than before.  
  
_It’s starting to look reluctant, so maybe…_ “Can we stop fighting now?”  
  
For a moment, the creature stared at them, blinking slowly.  
  
Then it turned and hopped away, leaving a faint clinking sound and a flicker of yellow in its wake. The gleam caught the child’s eye, and Frisk bent down, picking a pair of small gold coins off the ground. _Is this money?_ “Um, you dropped… this…”  
  
_Oh… it’s gone._  
  
_Should I go find it?_  
  
An echo of pain throbbed through their arm where the fly had grazed it, and their fingers closed tighter on the coins. _If I take the money, that’s probably stealing. I’d get in trouble, and I’d deserve it because I was bad._  
  
_But if I find the Froggit, it might remember it was going to hurt me, so I’ll be in trouble either way._  
  
_At least if it doesn’t find me, it can’t do anything to me._  
  
The coins slid into their pocket, and Frisk tried to squash the guilt in their chest as they glanced around the room, confirming that their cash-dropping assailant was indeed gone. Sure enough, the only creature in sight was the monster who’d given them advice, and it was still staring at the wall as if the sum of its musing was written on the stone.  
  
Decision solidified in Frisk’s mind, and they turned quickly toward the exit.  
  
_If the Froggit finds me again, I’ll give its money back. But I’m not going to get myself hurt just to give it the money it dropped while attacking me._  
  
_Wait…_  
  
Their foot froze in midair, confusion flooding their mind like a fog as their eyes returned to the room behind them.  
  
_How do I know it’s called a Froggit?_  
  
Their eyes snapped back to their amphibious adviser, its words and Toriel’s replaying in their head. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t remember when they’d heard what the creature was called.  
  
Curiosity battled fear and won, and the child padded across the room, reclaiming the small monster’s attention with a careful wave. “Um, excuse me…”  
  
“Yes, human?”  
  
“Um… I was wondering… you’re a Froggit, right?”  
  
A soft croak rose in its throat, and its chin dipped. “That’s right. It seems you’re learning about the monsters here.”  
  
“Yeah, I… guess I am…” _But who did I learn it from?_  
  
The child turned quickly to mask their confusion, and as they did, a second flash of gold caught their eye. This time, it was far larger, a four-pointed shape of light that spun above a pile of leaves. “Um, Froggit?” _I hope I’m not annoying it by asking too many questions._  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Oh, that?” Its eyes followed their pointing finger, and it gave a matter-of-fact croak. “That’s a wall. Or maybe you meant the pile of leaves.”  
  
“I…” _Can it really not see it?_ “I meant the yellow thing.”  
  
“Oh, did someone drop some gold? Monsters do that sometimes. Usually when we’ve started a fight and then decided to stop. If someone you fought dropped some gold, you might as well pick it up.”  
  
“Oh. Um… thanks.” _I guess I’m not stealing after all. And it sounds like they start fights even when I’m not around._  
  
_Is it really just a thing they do?_  
  
_That sounds pretty bad, but… even if they start fights easily, at least it’s easy to make them stop, and it sounds like they pay for your medical bills._  
  
_I’ll ask about that later. For now, I want to see what the invisible yellow star thing is. Is it something only humans can see?_  
  
Small, hesitant footsteps brought them to the edge of the leaf pile, and as their foot sank into the crinkling heap, a knife of nostalgia twisted in their heart.  
  
_I remember playing in leaves. It was one of the few things that used to make me happy._  
  
Tears stung the backs of their eyes, and as fingers of fire gripped their throat, they bit the inside of their cheek, straining to stave off the tide.  
  
_I’m not going to cry. There were good times before, and maybe, if I can get through this, there will be some again._  
  
_Maybe it won’t feel right, but… at least it’s something to hold onto._  
  
The wall blurred past them as Frisk let themselves fall, and the leaves rustled with the sound of a hundred memories as they caught the child in their brittle, soft embrace.  
  
A tiny hand reached toward the star’s yellow glow, and a warm rush of comfort poured into their arm as their finger touched the light.  
  
_I don’t know why, but I feel better now. Like even if something bad happens, things are going to be OK._  
  
Their eyes slipped briefly closed, and for a moment, the warm temptation of a nap in the leaves teased their tired mind.  
  
Then a memory’s ominous whispers forced their eyes open, and their heart began to pound.  
  
There, in the entrance of the room, Flowey was staring at them. His eyes were wide with surprise, and his mouth parted wordlessly, as if some vast realization had stunned him into silence.  
  
Part of Frisk wanted to know what had caused the flower such shock. But their desire to live was louder.  
  
With an urgent push, they burst free of the leaves, then bolted down the hall. A backward glance showed that their stalker hadn’t moved, but the thoughtful stare that followed them sent dread swirling through their gut.  
  
_Whatever he just found out, it’s probably important, but I’m not getting close enough to ask._  
  
_I just hope it isn’t bad._  
  
_Touching that star thing might have been a mistake._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
“ _Here comes Napstablook.”_  
  
_And there it goes again. Another name I shouldn’t know, but somehow do._  
  
A shimmering specter hovered in their path, drooping features staring from a body that reminded them of their first attempt to dress up like a ghost.  
  
It would have been comical, were it not for the facts that it completely blocked the narrow hall, and had gone from pretending to sleep on a leaf pile to trembling on the verge of tears.  
  
_I’ve never seen Napstablook before, but that voice in my head…_  
  
_I don’t think this is the first time I’ve heard it. Just the first time I was listening close enough to notice._  
  
_Is it the ghost’s voice? It sounded like a kid my age, but kind of tired…_  
  
_Do dead children turn into ghosts?_  
  
A flare of relief and hope blazed through them, and they smiled at the apparition. _If this ghost is a dead kid, then maybe-_  
  
“Heh…” The sad premonition of a chuckle derailed their train of thought, and tears spilled from Napstablook’s glistening eyes.  
  
_Has nobody ever smiled at them before? They must be really lone-AGH!_  
  
A tear brushed their shoulder, biting into it like acid, and they flinched away with a cry. _Even the_ tears _around here hurt?!_  
  
Their legs stumbled into the familiar act of dodging magic, and they tried to divide their attention between watching the barrage and meeting the ghost’s woeful stare. “Please stop crying! I didn’t mean to make you sad – I just want to walk past you, so, uh…”  
  
_What should I say? I don’t think they want to hurt me, but if they keep crying, they might just kill me by accident._  
  
_I have to cheer them up. Maybe if I tell a joke about ghosts… if I know any… oh, I remember one!_ “Where do ghosts mail their letters? At the ghost office!”  
  
Even as they watched their assailant’s face for signs of progress, a bolt of trepidation and regret shot through them. _Wait, should I have let the ghost answer. But what if they got it wrong and got upset?_  
  
“Heh heh…”  
  
_Oh good, they’re starting to smile, and… write in the air?_  
  
Ethereal lines wavered in midair, a silent announcement that the ghost was “REALLY NOT FEELIN UP TO IT RIGHT NOW. SORRY.”  
  
It was the strangest battle move they’d seen in this already outlandish day, but they weren’t about to upset Napstablook by saying so. “That’s OK,” they reassured them. “We can tell jokes when you are feeling up to it.”  
  
“Oh… OK… if you want to… Uh… before you go, though… if it’s all right with you… can I show you something?”  
  
“Uh, sure.” _I hope it won’t be something painful._  
  
“Let me try…”  
  
_Try wh- not again!_  
  
Liquid rose in Napstablook’s eyes, and Frisk braced themselves for another barrage. Their wide gaze followed the tears as they slipped free and fell…  
  
_Up? They’re falling_ up _?_  
  
As swiftly as they rose, the drops of magic dissolved into mist, coalescing around their creator’s head to form a small, posh hat.  
  
“I call it “dapper blook”. Do you like it…”  
  
The apparition trailed off, as if too uncertain to even make the question sound like a question, in case they didn’t like the answer.  
  
By now, Frisk was ready to automatically like anything that wasn’t an attack, just for not being an attack.  
  
“Yes, it’s very… dapper.” _And safe and un-attack-like._  
  
“Oh gee…” Two final tears fell, slipping harmlessly past the child. The shimmering white barrier that had formed around them faded, bleeding a bit of Frisk’s tension away, and Napstablook sank to the floor.  
  
“I usually come to the Ruins because there’s nobody around,” they murmured. “But today I met somebody nice. ...Oh, I’m rambling again. I’ll get out of your way.”  
  
The shy specter faded from sight, and Frisk’s shoulders slumped with relief. _That was weird, and it’s a bad sign when even tears can hurt me, but at least it was easy to make them stop._  
  
_Is everyone down here this nice and this dangerous at the same time?_  
  
Gentle eyes smiled serenely in their memory, and a shudder swept through them. _Maybe I won’t have to make her mad. Given how powerful Toriel is, she might just kill me by accident._  
  
Decision hardened in their soul, and their jaw and fingers clenched with resolve.  
  
_I have to keep going. No matter what, I have to get out of here._  
  
_I can do this. Just stay determined, keep dodging and being nice, and eventually, people will let me go._  
  
_And once I escape the Underground… well…_  
  
The frail branch of optimism cracked in their grasp, and their eyes fell to the newly unoccupied leaves.  
  
_The last two places I’ve been were too dangerous to live in._  
  
_I just hope the rest of the world won’t be the same._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
“I’m trying to be nice about this! Please, just let me go!”  
  
The rules had changed. Being nice wasn’t working anymore.  
  
Their compliments were falling on deaf ears.  
  
Their legs were getting too tired to dodge.  
  
They’d found a ribbon on the floor, and the voice in their head had told them monsters wouldn’t hit them as hard if they looked cuter, but it seemed that the faded fabric couldn’t make them cute enough.  
  
They’d considered fighting or trying to flee, but that had a history of not ending well.  
  
And no amount of nonresistance seemed to placate their opponent. Even as they curled into a ball on the leaf-strewn floor, assuming the all-too-familiar position of a victim trying to wait out an assault, the Vegetoid continued to attack.  
  
The carrot-shaped monster chuckled, a slit-eyed smile splitting its face like a celebration of the child’s impending death. “Plants can’t talk, dummy,” it claimed, and a flood of terrified frustration thundered through Frisk’s aching head.  
  
“But you just did!” _No, no, stupid! Don’t argue with it! You’ll only make it angrier!_  
  
As they’d feared, the Vegetoid responded by summoning a hail of magic from the ceiling, and Frisk curled up tighter as the produce-shaped bullets bounced around the room.  
  
_It’ll stop, won’t it? Maybe it’s just frustrated, or having a bad day… once it’s had enough, it has to stop._  
  
A shimmering onion grazed their back, sending pain tearing through their spine. Terror pounded in their chest, and their eyes began to burn and blur as they glanced at the ethereal rectangle that showed their HP.  
  
_Five out of twenty… what happens if it reaches zero?_  
  
The Vegetoid cackled softly, and somewhere in the back of Frisk’s mind, that strange child’s voice whispered, _“Vegetoid is here for your health.”_  
  
_Then why is it hurting me? And who are you?_  
  
The ghostly voice fell silent, and Frisk clenched their fists in frustration before turning their questions to the Vegetoid.  
  
“Why? Why are you doing this? What did I do wrong?”  
  
“Plants can’t talk, dummy.”  
  
Magic rained from the ceiling again, and Frisk wrenched themselves out of the defensive ball and forced their legs into a stumbling dodge. Attacks sped past them, driving them into a corner, and a ricocheting bullet struck them in the stomach, sending them reeling into the wall as they clamped a hand over their abdomen.  
  
Seeing the movement, the Vegetoid smiled wider. “Want a healthy meal?”  
  
_I don’t know if I’d trust something it cooked, but if there’s a chance that that would make it happy enough to go away…_ “OK.”  
  
“Eat your greens.”  
  
They’d thought it would stop attacking and offer some food.  
  
Instead, a rain of carrots plunged from the ceiling, one of them flaring a pale green.  
  
_Eat greens… It wants me to eat it? Should I?_  
  
_Down here, is that how they…_  
  
A high, cheerful voice echoed in their head, halting Frisk’s progress toward the emerald bullet.  
  
“ _Down here, love is shared through little white… friendliness pellets.”_  
  
_No._  
  
Suspicion blazed through their mind, and Frisk lunged away from the offered greenery. _I’ve fallen for this before._  
  
_I’m not touching something a plant monster told me to touch. Especially not when it’s trying to kill me and laughing about it._  
  
_Down here, I can’t afford to be that trusting._  
  
The Vegetoid cackled again, and the fear that had threatened to freeze their limbs began to heat into rage. _Do you really think this is funny?_  
  
Two HP left. No margin for error. Once again, Frisk glanced to the side, considering an attempt to escape…  
  
But what if that just made it angrier?  
  
Trying to run away had only ever made hostile people angrier.  
  
_It’ll stop before it kills me, right? I mean, even_ he _stopped before… at least, until…_  
  
_No._ Their eyes flinched shut and they shook their head, struggling to dislodge the images that threatened to drive them to their knees. _No, I don’t want to think about that._  
  
The seconds whirled around them like wind in a hurricane, blurring past in a blinding rush that drowned all attempts at rational thought. Options raced through their mind, fragments in the storm, and they struggled to grasp them long enough to weigh their pros and cons.  
  
_Running makes people angry, and it could catch me… being nice isn’t working… and Toriel was right, I don’t want to hurt anyone… there’s no food left to heal with… I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t… I don’t want to die…_  
  
_Should I attack it? If I almost defeat it, maybe it won’t want to fight anymore, like the Froggit said… but what if it gets mad and attacks even harder?_  
  
Their fists clenched hard enough for their fingernails to hurt their skin, but not hard enough to keep their hands from shaking.  
  
_No. Being nice worked on all the other monsters. It_ has _to work now._  
  
_It’ll stop. It HAS to stop. Maybe if I’d had a chance to be nice to the flower, it would have stopped, too._  
  
_I just have to survive long enough to calm it down. I’ll be good, like Toriel said, and convince it to stop._  
  
“You’re, uh… very good at throwing vegetables, and… it’s great that you’re farmed locally – I mean, that’s a good thing, right?”  
  
_That was horrible, Frisk! You have to come up with something better!_  
  
“Plants can’t talk, dummy.”  
  
The ceiling glowed white again, and Frisk’s voice rose to a terrified shriek. “No, wait! I’m sorry! I’ll do better! Please stop! _Please_!”  
  
Their unheeded cry rang through the room, and panicked words spilled frantically forth as they darted between the falling carrots. “Why are you doing this? Please, just tell me why! Did I compliment you wrong? What did I do wrong?!”  
  
A carrot narrowly missed their hand, and terror pounded through their pulse, drowning out every thought with its silent, rhythmic scream.  
  
“Please stop! Please, PLEASE stop! Just tell me what I did wrong! I promise I’ll find a way to fix it – just tell-AAAAH!”  
  
A too-sharp turn took their feet out from under them, and a frightened cry split the air as they fell in a flurry of displaced leaves.  
  
An ear of corn plunged from the ceiling, and Frisk rolled frantically to avoid the attack…  
  
Only for pain to tear through their head as a tomato ricocheted into the back of their skull.  
  
A horrible cracking flooded their senses, as if the very core of their being had shattered like a stricken bone. In front of them, the vulnerable red glow of their soul split into pieces, and horror choked their gasping throat as they struggled to process the magnitude of this deadly catastrophe.  
  
Their small, limp body slumped to the ground, and as their vision blurred into black, they caught a brief glimpse of their murderer, still smiling down at them.  
  
“Plants can’t talk, dummy.”  
  
“Why?” _I know you can talk. I know you can hear me. So why…_ “Why do you… all of you…” Their eyes fell closed, years of unanswered questions building relentlessly into one final, broken whisper.  
  
“Why do you hate me so much?”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_We were really stupid… weren’t we, Dash?_  
  
_This…_  
  
The brutal world had turned black, and the gravity that pressed their body to the floor had melted away, leaving their dazed, battered form floating in a void.  
  
Their eyes slipped closed, blocking out the light of their damaged soul, the cruel irony of their fate drew a humorless smile to their lips.  
  
_This is what we were trying to escape to. A place that’s just as bad as the one we were leaving behind._  
  
_This is where our hope got us._  
  
_I guess… I’ll be seeing you soon._  
  
_And as for… no…_  
  
Memory sliced through their mind, and their eyes snapped open.  
  
_NO._  
  
Determination blazed through their mind, and a flare of red scorched the darkness as their soul shone brighter.  
  
_No, it can’t end like this. I’m the only one who knows what happened. The only one who can do something about it._  
  
_I have to survive. I have to get out of here._  
  
_I have to keep holding on._  
  
A voice was talking now, murmuring assent. A deep, unfamiliar, resonant tone, telling them it couldn’t end like this.  
  
Commanding them to stay determined.  
  
And somewhere in their wounded soul, something in Frisk rose to answer.  
  
Yellow letters formed in the air, forming a pair of glowing words. _Reset. Continue._  
  
_I don’t know why those are here, and I don’t know what it’s asking me to reset, but… I don’t want to._  
  
_I want to keep moving forward. I have to continue._  
  
Their hand stretched toward the word, their fingers tingling as they drew close. Their reaching fingertips brushed the light, and as if in answer, it flared to life, golden light flooding the void in a surge of power and hope.  
  
The pain flooded from their soul, and a blur of purple seeped through the glare, solidifying it coalesced into a familiar wall.  
  
Suddenly there was stone beneath their feet, and orchid-shaded bricks on every side. A table sat ahead and to their right, and beside them, a flickering yellow star flashed as if in greeting.  
  
_That table… I’ve seen it before. This is where the mouse might come out and get the cheese._  
  
_Why am I here? Did I pass out? Did someone drag me back here?_  
  
Their mind spun in search of answers, struggling to reconcile what they’d experienced with a scenario compatible with reality.  
  
_That can’t be – I’m still standing up. Was I hallucinating?_  
  
A violent shake of their head did nothing to change their memories of the last few minutes, and their mind squirmed in the grasp of an impossible thought they could neither accept nor fully deny.  
  
_For a minute, I really thought I was dead._  
  
_But that can’t be true… right?_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
“Napstablook? You’re back here already?”  
  
_I just finished getting this ghost to move a few minutes before I d- …before I passed out. What are they doing back here already?_  
  
Just like before, the specter was saying “Zzzzz” loudly, their desperation to ward off any attempt at interaction at direct odds with their decision to park themselves in the middle of the path.  
  
Visions of acid rain danced through Frisk’s head, and they set a careful foot on the leaves, hoping they could get past without disturbing the obstacle’s fake slumber.  
  
“Oh noooo…”  
  
_Oh, no._  
  
And just like that, Napstablook was hovering in the air again, blocking their path. Alarm and frustration clashed into a churning whirlpool in Frisk’s gut, but with an effort, they gave the dangerous roadblock a patient smile. “Hi, Napstablook.”  
  
“Oh… oh, no… do I know you? You seem to know me… but I don’t remember you at all. I must seem so rude… oh noooooo…”  
  
Tears poured from Napstablook’s eyes, and as Frisk fell into a familiar frenetic dance, questions reeled through their mind.  
  
_How can Napstablook not remember me? Did I just hallucinate that we met? Can the person who’s been speaking in my head show me things before they happen?_  
  
An acid tear grazed their head, jolting their thoughts painfully back to the demands of the present.  
  
_I can figure this out later. For now, I need to cheer them up._  
  
“No, you don’t seem rude; just, um…” _Just forgetful._  
  
_Did I really see the future? If so, maybe I can get them to- oh!_  
  
A hopeful revelation sprang to their mind, and Frisk’s smile became slightly more real. “Can you show me Dapper Blook again? That was pretty cute.”  
  
“Oh, gee… I don’t know…”  
  
There it was again, that written message in the air. Exactly like they remembered it. _I really did see the future. That means I just have to cheer them up a little more._  
  
“It’s OK,” the child reassured their accidental assailant. “You can show me when you’re ready.” _Which will hopefully be soon._  
  
“You really… want to see it?… OK… let me try…”  
  
To Frisk’s great relief, the next rain of tears fell up, bending away from them to form the familiar dapper hat. “Do you… still like it?…”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“Oh… oh, gee…” Just as before, the ghost settled onto the leaf pile, staring happily up at the ceiling. “I usually come to the Ruins because there’s nobody around, but today I met somebody nice. ...Oh, I’m rambling again. I’ll get out of your way.”  
  
_That’s the same thing they said last time. It’s like I’m having the same encounter all over again._  
  
As Napstablook faded from sight, a shadow of apprehension fell over Frisk’s mind.  
  
_If I have gained the power to see the future, I’d better stay away from that Vegetoid. I just hope it will let me._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_How many of these awful carrot monsters are there?!_  
  
They’d managed to avoid the first Vegetoid, skirting carefully around the mess of viney hair that peered ominously out of the ground.  
  
The second one had ambushed them from below, boxing them in before they realized it was there, and this time they hadn’t bothered trying to talk to it.  
  
For a moment, they’d considered using the stick that they’d concealed in their pants on their way up the mountain, even though the thought of it made their hands shake.  
  
But there had still been one other option, and in desperation, they’d tried it. The moment the magic box around them faltered, they’d rushed through the opening and out of the room, almost running into the wall as they glanced back to see if their foe was following them.  
  
It wasn’t. Instead, it chuckled ominously as Frisk’s leg collided with something hard, and as they stumbled into the wall in the corner of the room, a moaning wail broke from their throat.  
  
They’d tripped over a Vegetoid. And it had brought a friend.  
  
The familiar lines of the battle box closed around them, and Frisk backed away from the leering plant and the horned cyclops creature that stood beside it.  
  
_I haven’t fought one of those before,_ they thought frantically, glancing from side to side. _It looks more mobile than the Vegetoid. What happens if I try to run now?_  
  
Another anxious look at the round, staring monster revealed a row of teeth below its massive eye, and the mysterious but increasingly familiar voice commented, _“Don't pick on him. Family name: Eyewalker.”_  
  
“Please don't pick on me,” the monster pleaded, and Frisk responded to the clear consensus with a hasty nod.  
  
_If that’s all it ta- WHAT?!_  
  
Trios of glowing white rings suddenly snaked toward them, writhing and undulating like fast inchworms, and one of them lanced across Frisk’s arm, drawing a yelp of pain. Vegetables poured from the ceiling, and one of them struck the child’s head in a burst of searing magic.  
  
The bombardment ended, and Frisk pressed their mouth tightly shut, fighting the urge to whimper or point out that they hadn’t picked on Loox. _Don’t talk, don’t move – that just makes them attack._  
  
Their eyes strayed furtively to the exit, and their teeth dug into their trembling lip.  
  
_Is Toriel ever coming back? She’ll probably be mad at me for leaving the room, but maybe I can flirt my way out of it, like in the spy movies. That’s what flirting is for, right?_  
  
_I’d flirt with the Vegetoid, but I already know what it will say._  
  
A gap in the battle box caught their eye, and Frisk lunged without hesitation.  
  
_I should keep running. Loox has short legs; maybe I can outrun it._  
  
_If I can just find Toriel and convince her not to be mad, maybe things will be OK._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
“Would you please just stop trying to kill me already?!”  
  
“Plants can’t talk, dummy.”  
  
So many Vegetoids. So many monsters. So many people trying to kill them.  
  
And by now, Frisk was convinced they were succeeding.  
  
Their HP had run out twice, and both times, they had felt their soul shatter in a blaze of blinding pain.  
  
Each time, the same strange voice had spoken, telling someone whose name they’d never heard before that they had to keep going.  
  
And then, as they thrust their hands into the light, they’d been dragged back into the world from which they’d fallen, returning to their senses at a point at which they’d felt encouraged or determined the first time they passed that spot.  
  
Now, as a trio of Vegetoids hemmed them in and vegetables bounced wildly around them, it looked like it was going to happen again.  
  
“How many times – uagh! – do I have to spare you or run from you before you get that I’m not your enemy?!”  
  
The monsters cackled in unison, repeating their assertion that plants can’t talk, and Frisk’s teeth ground together as their hands shook.  
  
_I’ve tried being nice to them. I’ve tried running away. But they just keep hunting me, no matter what I do._  
  
_Are they going to do that as long as we live?_  
  
They glanced around for an opening to flee through, for a way to buy a few precious seconds before the next fight, but the futility of that option seemed to drain the strength from their legs.  
  
_Running away just delays the inevitable. I have to try something else. Maybe if I threaten them…_  
  
Their hand slid across their hip, dipping into their baggy pants and emerging with the stick. “Don’t make me hit you!” they warned, struggling to make the threat sound sincere. “I won’t hit you if you go away!”  
  
“Plants can’t talk, dummy.”  
  
“STOP SAYING THAT!”  
  
Vegetables ricocheted violently around them, striking them twice as they struggled to evade, and wounded rage coalesced into a red, blinding haze.  
  
The stick slashed through the air, slamming into the nearest monster, and Frisk’s hand jolted back as they realized what they’d done. _Oh, no. NO, no… it’s gonna be so mad at me…_  
  
Numbers floated above the Vegetoid’s startled face, briefly distracting Frisk from their fear, and then the monster’s eerie smile reappeared. As the plants repeated their inane claims about vitamin A and where they’d been farmed, the child’s mind spun in circles around the strange numerals.  
  
_Those numbers… is that what it looks like when a monster’s health goes down? He told me I’d be able to see it once I learned how to sense souls, but I’ve never seen it before._  
  
A hail of bullets filled the air and Frisk lunged into motion, their attention reeling between their assailant’s face and a barrage that was quick and dangerous, but no faster or fiercer than usual.  
  
_Does this mean the Vegetoid isn’t mad at me for hitting them? Are they even smart enough to understand that I was attacking them?_  
  
_Do they not care? Or…_  
  
The bullets faded, and fingers of ice closed themselves around Frisk’s heart..  
  
_Could it be… that this is really such a “kill or be killed” world that attacking and being attacked is normal for them?_  
  
Their stomach curled in on itself, and their hands began to shake. _I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Surely that can’t be the only way._  
  
_But if the world really is like that, and they’re never going to stop…_  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
_I can’t… I can’t believe I… I…_  
  
A trickle of blood fell from Frisk’s nose, staining the floor where a blow to the back had thrown them onto their face.  
  
Pain and exhaustion flooded their body, clouding their mind and burning the backs of their eyes, and liquid warmth traced a path down their soft, scuffed cheeks.  
  
On the ground at their feet, a stick lay where it had fallen from numb fingers, staring back at them with its sightless, accusing gaze.  
  
And all around, on their shoes, the floor, and the weapon they’d used to commit the sin, was a thin coating of dust.  
  
_I can’t believe I did that._  
  
Somewhere in the back of their mind, a flicker of anger whispered that the Vegetoids had deserved it. Even after being spared, the trio had returned, smiling and cackling and trying yet again to kill a person who had repeatedly returned their violence with mercy.  
  
But far louder, closer to the surface, was a silent, disbelieving whimper.  
  
_I didn’t want to kill them. I didn’t want them to die._  
  
_But they weren’t stopping. Even after I was nice to them… even after I ran away… they just kept coming back._  
  
_They were never going to stop._  
  
Sickness rose in their gut, and they had just enough time to stumble clear of the dust before their churning stomach emptied itself in a gush of spider cider.  
  
_They were never going to stop… they never stop… it’s never going to stop._  
  
_This isn’t who I want to be. But this world isn’t going to stop being this world, and if this is the way it is…_  
  
_Do I have any other choice?_


	8. Leaving Hope Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk finds Toriel's house, and must choose between the happy life she offers and the mission that drives them forward.

_I wonder how much farther this cave goes. There has to be an exit somewhere._  
  
A wide hallway yawned into view on their left, and Frisk peered cautiously around the corner, quieting their breathing as their eyes darted in search of attackers or a way out.  
  
To their mixed relief and disappointment, the only noteworthy thing in the room was a patch of the Ruins’ ubiquitous red leaves arranged in a wide ‘t’ shape, as if this place had been given special attention by someone both meticulous enough to sculpt their leaf piles, and peculiar enough to place them in the middle of the path.  
  
 _I wonder if the person who rakes the leaves lives here. I should be extra careful; I don’t want them to use their rake on me._  
  
Their quiet feet skirted carefully around the brittle foliage, and as they slipped through the doorway at the end of the room, something rushed toward their face in a flash of dull crimson.  
  
They jolted away from it with a cry, then their eyes followed the spinning leaf as it tumbled to the ground. As the small projectile skidded to a halt, Frisk’s gaze rose to its source, and their heart sank.  
  
It was the saddest tree they’d ever seen. Its bark was black and rough with age, and its jagged branches were naked and bereft, as if they struggled each day to grow a leaf, only to have it fall into the pile that surrounded the weathered trunk.  
  
 _It looks so empty and lonely. Like it wants to grow leaves so badly, and they just keep on leaving… it…_  
  
Fiery tightness gripped their throat, and their teeth clenched on the inside of their cheek, fighting the burning tide that threatened to well up in their eyes. _No. I’m not going to think about people leaving. I’m not going to cry._  
  
A determined foot landed firmly on the path ahead, only to freeze as a soft, anxious voice suddenly sounded ahead of them. “Oh dear, that took longer than I thought it would.”  
  
 _OH, NO._  
  
A familiar white-and-purple figure hurried into view, a black cell phone rising toward her ear, and Frisk took a terrified step backward.  
  
 _I have to hide – oh crap, she saw me! She knows I left the room!  
  
Is there still dust on my shoes? Will she know I killed those Vegetoids?  
  
I’ve been bad… I’ve been so bad, there’s no way she isn’t going to-_  
  
“How did you get here, my child?” Toriel’s voice cut through their thoughts, a river of worried confusion where they’d expected angry fire. Before they could try to find an answer that wouldn’t stoke the flames, she continued, “Are you hurt?”  
  
Confusion shot through Frisk’s mind, and they unconsciously reached up to touch the bruise that was forming on their nose. Toriel’s eyebrows tensed in dismay, and she held up a massive hand, watching with something strangely like pity as the child flinched away. “There, there, I will heal you.”  
  
A warm, soothing glow washed across their battered face and soul, and the pain suddenly faded away, just as it had after their encounter with Flowey.  
  
“I should not have left you alone for so long,” Toriel continued. “It was irresponsible to try to surprise you like this. Err…”  
  
Surprise and embarrassment washed across the monster’s fuzzy features, then her smile returned. “Well, I suppose I cannot hide it any longer. Come, small one!”  
  
 _She isn’t even mad at me. She blamed herself, not me.  
  
Since when do grownups do that?_  
  
As they followed her in a small half-circle around the tree, the tall purple walls of a house came into view. A patch of leaves adorned the ground in front of each window, and a flood of tension drained from Frisk’s shoulders as the gleam of a save point flared among the foliage.  
  
They didn’t dare keep Toriel waiting, but they skirted sideways long enough to touch the yellow light before trailing her through the front door.  
  
 _Maybe Dash was right – maybe monsters ARE different from humans. At least some of them.  
  
Dash…_ The name sent a painful twist through their chest, and thoughts rose unbidden from the part of their heart in which fresh wounds refused to stay buried. _If you were with me now, could we have been happy here?  
  
Would you even have made it this far?_  
  
Their eyes were starting to burn again, and Frisk shoved the dangerous feeling back into its box.  
  
This wasn’t the time to be thinking about Dash and making themselves cry. Adults didn’t like tears.  
  
 _I have to stay determined, and find a way out. Maybe afterward, I can come back, but there’s something I have to do first._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Somehow, in the last five minutes, the world had turned from a waking nightmare into a mocking dream.  
  
The house was tidy and cute. Toriel was gentle, patient and affectionate – like a parent who actually wanted them, even though she’d met them just hours ago. The bedroom was nice, and while Frisk wasn’t sure what to make of the toys, the bed was so comfortable.  
  
But even as they nestled under the covers, searching in vain for a desperately needed rest, there were two facts that wouldn’t stop running through their mind.  
  
Dash wasn’t here.  
  
And Frisk couldn’t stay.  
  
 _This is everything he’d hoped it would be. Everything I hadn’t dared hope for. Everything I wasn’t even sure existed.  
  
But he isn’t here to share it._  
  
The warm embrace of the bed felt wrong, like a hug stolen from an unknowing stranger when the person who should have been hugging them was gone. Frisk squirmed in its suddenly smothering grasp, their fingers clenching with a desperate, unreasoning compulsion to do something, _anything_ else.  
  
 _This is wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t just stay and live his dream when he’s not here, and let everyone else forget about him.  
  
Nobody out there even knows he’s dead, except for the person who killed him.  
  
I have to go._  
  
Their feet swung to the floor, only to retreat sharply as they touched the edge of something hard and wobbly. A startled gasp jerked through their throat, and they put their feet down more cautiously this time, groping with their hand for the obstacle.  
  
 _A paper plate? With a… I think that’s pie on it? That wasn’t there before._  
  
They straightened up, clutching the dish carefully with both hands as they glanced toward the bed.  
  
 _Did I actually fall asleep? I don’t really feel rested, but I guess I must have, unless plates can move and talk like rocks do._  
  
The sweet smells of cinnamon and butterscotch caressed their nose, and Frisk inhaled deeply, desire growling through their stomach. _How long has it been since I ate? This pie smells really good._  
  
For a moment, their fingers gripped the dessert, ready to bring it to their mouth… then they paused, trepidation crawling through their soul.  
  
 _I shouldn’t. I don’t know when the next fight will be, or if I’ll get any more food before then. I should save this for the next time someone wants to kill me.  
  
In the meantime…_  
  
As Frisk folded the plate around the pie and slipped it into their pocket, a twinge of guilt twisted through them.  
  
 _How am I gonna tell Toriel? She was so happy about having someone living here. It seems like she’s really lonely, and she’s probably lost someone, too… how do I give her the bad news?  
  
Maybe if I tell her I’ll come back… Yeah. That should work._  
  
The floorboards creaked softly beneath Frisk’s feet as they padded out of the bedroom, and the warm crackle of a fireplace greeted them as they stepped into the hall. Blinking in the sudden light, they wandered into the living room, squinting owlishly at the towering monster who sat peacefully in her reading chair.  
  
“Up already, I see?”  
  
Rubbing their eyes, Frisk nodded, then glanced around. _I wonder if I should say something else before asking to leave? Um…_  
  
“Um...” Unknowingly, Toriel echoed the faltering in Frisk’s train of thought. “I want you to know how glad I am to have someone here.”  
  
 _Oh nooo…_  
  
The child’s guilt instantly quadrupled, and for a moment, they almost reconsidered their entire quest. _She really was lonely and then happy. And now I’m going to make her lonely again, even though she’s been nicer than I ever could have asked for.  
  
I’m such a bad kid._  
  
As Toriel began to cheerfully ramble about the books she wanted to share with them, the bug-hunting spots she wanted to show Frisk, the curriculum she’d prepared for their education, and her dream of becoming a teacher, the guilt continued to grow until its suffocating weight seemed like it would swallow them whole.  
  
 _Maybe I should wait, and let her be happy for a while.  
  
But wouldn’t that just get her more attached to me?  
  
Oh, no. Now she’s asking what I want. This would probably be the time to tell her, but she’s going to be so upset…_  
  
“Uh…” Mustering their courage, Frisk drew in a deep breath, then took the plunge. “I… I’m really sorry, but… I have something I need to do. On the surface. It’s really important.”  
  
 _Should I tell her what? No… if I told her I need to report a murder, she might worry that it would be too dangerous.  
  
Should I tell her I can come back from the dead? No… then she’d want to know how I know, and she’d probably feel guilty._  
  
“Um…” Once again, Toriel was hesitating. But this time, the pause was tinged with fear. “How about an exciting snail fact?”  
  
 _What does that have to do with…_  
  
“Did you know that snails sometimes flip their digestive systems as they mature?”  
  
Despite their best intentions of staying focused, Frisk couldn’t help but be briefly sidetracked by that ludicrous snail fact. “You mean they start eating with their butts and pooping with their mouths?! But can’t they still taste it? Or do their tongues go into their butts too?”  
  
For a moment, Toriel stared at them.  
  
Frisk stared back.  
  
Then the monster suddenly released a loud, alarming snort, and Frisk jolted backward before watching in confused fascination as she dissolved into laughter. _So some grownups DO do that in real life. I hoped they did, but… this isn’t really the time._  
  
As their would-be mother continued to giggle, Frisk stood shuffling in place, silently wondering whether they should wait it out, or quietly take their leave while Toriel was distracted.  
  
Before they could make up their mind, a large, soft paw settled gently on their head. “How adorable!” Toriel commented. “Children have the most interesting perspectives on things, do they not? Well, let me know if you need anything else.”  
  
 _But… that doesn’t answer my question. Any of my questions.  
  
I still don’t know about snail tongue butts or how to leave.  
  
Do monsters have some sort of selective brainpower, like how Vegetoids can talk but they can’t understand talking, or Toriel seems to understand most things except for questions? Maybe fuzzy white monsters just don’t understand questions. I’ll have to try just saying it._  
  
“I’m sorry; I, uh… I need to go now. I’ll come back when I can.”  
  
And just like that, the expression of fearful, pained concern was back, and Toriel was pushing herself to her feet. “I have to do something.”  
  
In a few quick movements, she tucked the book into the chair, took off her reading glasses, and strode toward the stairs, her long legs devouring the distance at an urgent walk that was faster than Frisk could run.  
  
 _Did I make her mad? Is she leaving me? Is she getting a stick or a belt or something?_  
  
Fear flared through Frisk’s body, and they glanced toward the front door. _Should I run? No… that place is full of monsters that want to kill me. If I go there, I’ll definitely get hurt.  
  
I should go tell Toriel it’ll be OK. Maybe she’s just sad and lonely because I’m leaving. If I convince her that I’ll be OK and I’ll come back, maybe she’ll let me go without getting too angry.  
  
It’s worth a shot.  
  
_~*~*~*~  
  
The warmth of Toriel’s cozy house shrank swiftly into the distance, and the smooth, cold walls of the basement hallway stretched in front of Frisk, like a portal channeling them from a hopeful dream back into the life they’d always known.  
  
In front of them, the monster’s footsteps were swift and relentless, and even as Frisk sprinted to catch up with her, fear drove their hand into their pocket, groping for the ribbon.  
  
 _If I’m cuter, she won’t hit me as hard, right?_  
  
 _...Right?_  
  
The hasty whisper of fur-softened footsteps ceased abruptly, and Frisk stumbled to a halt beside Toriel, close enough to see her face but too far away to be easily grabbed.  
  
Now, at last, the monster spoke, and while her face remained gentle, her eerily calm tone was steeled with resolve.  
  
“Ahead of us lies the end of the Ruins. A one-way exit to the rest of the Underground.” She drew a deep breath, her shoulders rising as if her already towering body was growing to match the magnitude of her words. “I am going to destroy it.”  
  
 _No!_ Fear pounded through Frisk’s chest, and their mind began to race. _No, no… I can’t let her do that! If_ _I stay here_ _, no one will ever know how Dash died, and the person who killed him can go and kill more people. I have to get out and tell people!_  
  
 _But how do I stop her?_  
  
Her hands were already curling into fists, and the sight made Frisk shrink away. _She’s huge, and she throws fire. She hasn’t gotten angry yet, but how much more can I push her before things get dangerous?_  
  
Toriel’s voice returned, steady and grim, as if reminding herself why this had to be done. “No one will ever be able to leave again. Now be a good child, and go upstairs.”  
  
Those swift, soft footsteps started again, and Frisk forced themselves to jog after her, even as a lifetime of conditioning screamed at them to do as they’d been told.  
  
 _I have to do this,_ they reminded themselves. _And if it goes wrong, I can come back from the dead. Whatever happens this time, I’ll learn from it, and I’ll try again if I have to._  
  
 _Maybe while she’s destroying the exit, I can slip through and escape._  
  
Then Toriel froze in place, and her face transformed. Those wide, bright eyes went narrow, and her peacefully arched eyebrows flattened as if beneath the weight of grim memory. “Every human that falls down here meets the same fate,” she said quietly, refusing to look at Frisk as she spoke. “I have seen it again and again. They come. They leave. They _die_.  
  
“You naive child.” At last, her eyes locked with Frisk’s, ablaze with pain and desperation that belied the forced calm of her face. “If you leave the ruins, they… Asgore… will kill you. I am only protecting you, do you understand? Go to your room.”  
  
Silence fell in the wake of her words, and as Toriel turned sharply and began to walk again, everything she’d said and done flashed through Frisk’s mind in a disturbing new light.  
  
 _So that’s why she was so_ _determined not to let_ _me leave. Why she ignored me the first time I said I had to go, and was so worried about_ _me getting hurt_ _._  
  
 _I was right… she_ has _lost people. And she’s scared to lose me, too._  
  
Pity, fear, and futile hope begged their feet to stay frozen. But as their would-be mother slipped out of sight, Frisk forced their legs back into motion, tears stinging their throat and eyes as they stumbled into a run.  
  
 _I’m sorry, Toriel. I want to be a good child. I don’t want to worry you._  
  
 _But if I don’t tell people there’s a murderer on the loose, then other_ _moms and kids like us_ _will lose the people they love._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The exit loomed before them in a towering arch of magenta, its surface staring down at Frisk through three black triangles shaped like a face that laughed at their fear. Above the triangles, a pair of raven wings spread ominously, framing Toriel’s glaring features as she turned to look at the human.  
  
“You want to leave so badly?” Her voice was stern and sharp, its steel surface cracked by the tremor of a mother on the verge of losing her child. Then her tone flattened, desperation giving way to a grim, focused resolve. “Hmph. You are just like the others. There is only one solution to this.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed, and fire flared from the palms of her massive hands. “Prove yourself. Prove to me you are strong enough to survive.”  
  
A gasp rushed through Frisk’s lungs, and the sight of the fire drove one of their feet backward… but the other foot stayed planted. _I can’t give up. I can’t show weakness or fear._  
  
 _I have to prove that I’m strong enough._  
  
Lines of sickeningly familiar light raced across the floor, enclosing Frisk in a prison they’d hoped they’d never have to connect with the woman who’d offered them safety and hope.  
  
The box of magic closed between the mother and child, cutting them off from each other, and Frisk’s heart sank as their mind resigned itself to the return of the world they’d always known.  
  
 _I_ _should’ve known_ _it was just a matter of time. I knew it was going to be like this._  
  
Fireballs rained from the ceiling, weaving from side to side in bewilderingly complex patterns. Frisk tried to dart and dodge between them, but there was so much fire, and it was moving in such dense, tangled sweeps, that they barely lasted three seconds before a flame touched their skin in a hiss of steam and pain.  
  
Water stung the edges of their eyes, and as they stumbled away from the thickest part of the attack, they searched the gaps in the veil between combatants for some sign of remorse in their would-be mother’s stare.  
  
They couldn’t tell whether there was one or not. Toriel stood silent and aloof, her face still set in the same flat mask it had fallen into when she’d warned them about Asgore.  
  
No rage. Just resignation. No confusion like the Froggits displayed; she knew exactly what she was doing.  
  
She was trying to protect them, but it hurt _so much_. Just like a part of them had always known it would.  
  
 _No matter how nice they seem at first, or what their reason, it always happens sooner or later._  
  
 _Grownups always have a reason to hit_ _me_ _._  
  
Toriel’s turn ended, and Frisk hesitated. _She said to make monsters stop by talking to them, so… maybe I should talk to her? I could talk about… um…_  
  
Their mouth opened to enact their plan, but every word died before it could escape.  
  
They couldn’t tell her they wouldn’t get hurt, because they probably would. And they couldn’t tell her they’d resurrect, because then she’d know they’d already died.  
  
They couldn’t ask about snail butts, because that hadn’t accomplished anything the first time around.  
  
Asking about Asgore would make her think about her reasons for keeping them there. Telling her how important their mission was might make her ask questions until she found out how dangerous it was.  
  
They couldn’t think of any conversation topics that wouldn’t make things worse.  
  
Ironically, talking did not seem to be the solution to this situation.  
  
 _She said to prove I’m strong enough._ _Being strong enough to live means winning fights, right?_ The stick emerged from their pocket, and lifted for a swing… then wavered to a halt.  
  
 _I don’t want to hit her. It_ _was bad enough that I hit those Vegetoids, and she isn’t like them_ _. She isn’t killing me and laughing about it; she’s just trying to make sure I won’t get caught by Asgore if I’m too weak_ _to stop them from killing me_ _._  
  
 _She doesn’t deserve for me to hit her._  
  
The stick lowered, and Toriel gritted her teeth, pouring fire from her hands. Frisk dashed frantically among the flames, then spend their next turn hesitating, their mind torn between obedience and fear. _I know you want me to fight you, but I can’t go through that again. Please,_ _PLEASE_ _, stop before I have to hit you!_  
  
Fire filled the air again, and again, and again, and as Frisk’s HP fell dangerously low, their grip on the branch began to tighten.  
  
“What are you doing?” Toriel demanded, responding to yet another refusal with a torrent of flame. “Attack or run away!”  
  
 _She isn’t stopping. They never stop. I don’t want to… I DON’T WANT TO…_  
  
Their fingers spasmed tight on the stick, and their eyes and teeth clenched shut. _I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but if_ _this is the only solution you’ll accept_ _…_  
  
The stick struck Toriel on the hip, and Frisk flinched harder than the target of their attack. A whimper pierced the chill basement air, and their hand trembled so desperately that the stick nearly shook its way free.  
  
Toriel fell silent, and the battle continued. Bit by bit, the pyromancer’s HP slowly fell, while Frisk struggled to stay clear of the fireballs and slowly sweeping hands.  
  
 _Her HP is getting low. She’s got to give up soon, right? The Froggit said if a monster’s almost defeated, they might not want to fight anymore, and if I can get her HP really low without killing her, I’ll have proved myself and she’ll let me go._  
  
 _She’s only got enough life left for_ _two more attacks_ _. I’ll have to be careful… I’ll only attack at half power…_  
  
The stick streaked through the air, connecting with the monster at half the speed it had before. For a split second, Frisk opened their mouth to ask if they could leave – then the words died in their chest, along with part of their heart.  
  
Toriel’s HP was gone.  
  
 _NO- how?!… She had enough left to survive a weak attack!_  
  
Numbers floated above the stricken woman’s head, ten times more than Frisk had expected, and thoughts reeled through their mind like paper shredding in the wind.  
  
“Urgh…”  
  
The monster slumped forward, her knees striking the floor in tandem with the stick that fell from Frisk’s nerveless fingers. “Toriel?!”  
  
The answering voice was thick with pain, forced slowly from a wounded chest Toriel clutched with one trembling hand. “You are stronger than I thought.” Her eyes, which had squeezed shut as she fell, forced themselves open and locked on Frisk’s. “Listen to me, small one. If you go beyond this door, keep walking as far as you can. Eventually, you will reach an exit.”  
  
 _But – but what about you? Aren’t you going to heal yourself? Toriel?!_  
  
They’d meant to say the words aloud. But the only sound that escaped their throat was a small, strangled whimper.  
  
“Asgore…” There was that word again, laden with dread. “Do not let Asgore take your soul. His plan cannot be allowed to succeed.”  
  
 _Take… my soul? What plan? What’s he going to do with me?_ _D_ _oes taking my soul… mean I can’t come back_ _from the dead anymore_ _?_  
  
For just a moment, the ominous warning pulled part of their mind away from the tragedy unfolding in front of them.  
  
Then Toriel’s face twisted with a fresh wave of pain, and Frisk rushed forward, trying to hold her wound shut with hands far too small for the task. “Toriel, hold on! You have to heal yourself! Toriel, please!”  
  
If the monster heard their desperate plea, she gave no sign of it. “Be good, won’t you?” A small, sad smile blossomed through the pain, tearing a new gash in Frisk’s heart. “…My child.”  
  
The chest beneath Frisk’s hands dissolved, and a strangled scream tore from their throat as Toriel fell apart. As the monster’s dust settled to the floor, another shriek split the cold air, then another, then a fourth.  
  
Somewhere outside the Ruins, a skeleton paused and listened, trepidation rising in his chest as the distant cries seeped eerily into the Snowdin cold.  
  
But inside the sealed sanctuary, Frisk was oblivious to his fear. All they could feel was the dust on their hands, the shock that turned their thoughts to static, and the howling void where a mother’s love had disappeared forever, leaving a horrified chasm of loss and guilt behind.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _I can’t believe I did that._  
  
The room had finally gone silent, hoarseness stealing the sound from Frisk’s aching throat. _I can’t believe I… she was trying to protect me, she was going to take care of me, she wasn’t even mad when I attacked her, and I… I… I_ _KILLED HER_ _…_  
  
Somewhere in the distance, a faint but urgent tapping noise tugged at the fringe of their consciousness, along with a muffled voice too far away for the words to be discernible. _Did someone hear me screaming? Are they about to find out what I did?_  
  
 _Are they going to kill me now?_  
  
 _I…_ The fist that had clenched in panic went limp, and their tear-reddened eyes fell to Toriel’s dust. _I’d_ _deserve it._  
  
 _Though, even if_ _they did kill me_ _, I would just…_  
  
A gasp jolted through Frisk’s chest, and their eyes suddenly went wide. _That’s right! I’m so stupid!_  
  
 _If I die, I’ll go back in time!_  
  
 _I haven’t_ _touched one of those yellow stars_ _since I killed her. I have to go now, before I save my progress and I can’t undo this!_  
  
The mysterious knocking person would have to wait. For now, the sound was swallowed by footsteps as Frisk fled down the hall, up the stairs so fast that they tripped on the last step, and back into the Ruins with all the speed that hope and desperation could offer them.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The moment Frisk reappeared outside Toriel’s home, their soul still quivering with the memory of the Froggit’s final blow, they bolted into the house as if pursued by an army of Vegetoids. “Toriel?!”  
  
And there she was. Startled and alarmed by the panic in Frisk’s voice, oblivious to the reason for their fear… but alive.  
  
“My child? What is it? You look like you have seen a ghost.”  
  
“I…” Frisk’s mouth opened, only to find itself empty of words. _What do I tell her? That I’m a time traveler? That I killed her a few minutes ago? No… that’s creepy. She’d think I was a liar._ “I… uh… I did see a ghost. And they cried on me.”  
  
To their relief, her face tensed in a way that told them no further explanation was needed. “Oh, dear. That sounds dangerous.” Her hand extended to settle on their head. “Worry not, small one. You are safe in here.”  
  
“I know. Th-thank you.”  
  
 _I wish I could believe that. I wish it could keep being true._  
  
 _I wish I didn’t have to go back to that basement so soon after I… I…_ “I’m sorry.” Their trembling hands gripped each other, trying to hold each other still.  
  
For just a moment, they closed their eyes, silently mourning for the life with which fate so cruelly tempted them.  
  
Then they forced their gaze to lift, and looked Toriel in the eyes. “I want to stay here. I really do. I know you’re happy about having someone here, and I’m really sorry to do this to you. But I have to go. There’s something important I need to do on the surface. If… when I’m done, I could come back.”  
  
There it was again: that look of fear, the quick mutter of “I am sorry… there is something I need to do, too.”  
  
And then Toriel was power-walking into the basement, and Frisk once again forced their tired legs to run in her wake.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
 _I wish I knew how to talk her out of this fight. How many turns is this going to take?!_  
  
Fire rushed past Frisk’s face, and they darted away from it, only to collide with Toriel’s huge, sweeping hand. The fire vanished as her arm jerked back, and Frisk staggered into a ready stance, staring at their would-be mother with pleading, desperate eyes. _Please give up. Please stop trying to make me fight you._  
  
 _I can’t do that. Not again._  
  
Toriel’s eyes met theirs, and for an instant, her face tightened in the faintest ghost of a flinch. “Stop it,” she protested, readying yet another salvo. “Stop looking at me that way.”  
  
 _It’s getting to her!_ A flaming projectile struck their leg, and they fell to one knee before scrambling to their feet. _She’s susceptible to puppy eyes! If I just keep giving her puppy eyes, maybe she’ll stop!_  
  
Another fireball grazed their arm, and as the volley ended, their hand almost strayed to their pocket in search of the slice of pie. Then they froze, and everything inside them sank with disappointment. _Oh. Right. I didn’t go to sleep this time, so I didn’t get the pie._  
  
Fiery tightness rose in their throat, and they clenched their teeth and swallowed it back.  
  
 _It’s a really small thing to get upset about. I can’t let myself cry over it. But… I_ _was really looking forward to_ _that pie._  
  
Two more turns passed in silence, and Frisk forced themselves to focus on dodging and not think of all the things this fight was going to cost them. _Notice the patterns. Find safe places in the box. Focus on that._  
  
As the child’s HP fell, the fireballs started to break away from their frighteningly complex patterns. Flames still poured from Toriel’s hands, but they slipped harmlessly along the edges of the box, and the sight made Frisk’s shoulders slump with relief. _She isn’t going to kill me. Even if I don’t use any healing items, she still won’t kill me._  
  
 _She really isn’t like other grownups._  
  
 _And I definitely can’t risk killing her._  
  
Without knowing what to say, and not daring to attack, Frisk continued giving Toriel their cutest pleading stare, while a Froggit’s words echoed through their head.  
  
 _It said someday I might have to spare someone_ _who wasn’t showing that they were ready to be spared_ _. I didn’t think ‘someday’ meant ‘today’, but it looks like it does._  
  
 _Wait… did she just stop attacking?_  
  
Frisk’s eyes rose tentatively, and were met by a sad, worried stare whose pleading desperation matched their own.  
  
“I know you want to go home.” Toriel’s voice was softer than they’d ever heard it before, muted by something far heavier than the deliberate gentleness of a reassuring parent. “But please… go upstairs now. I promise I will take good care of you here. We do not have much, but… we can have a good life here.”  
  
 _I know._ And they doubted Toriel would ever know how much that knowledge hurt. _I know we can have a good life. Maybe the only chance for a good life I’ll ever have._  
  
 _I wish I didn’t have to throw it away. But if I don’t…_  
  
 _I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t tell you why I’m making this so difficult, why I can’t go back upstairs. It’ll only make you worry more._  
  
 _But I also have people I need to_ _protect_ _._  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
For a few hopeful seconds, Frisk had thought there was still a way for things to be all right. They could find the hole in the mountain again; this happy life with Toriel didn’t have to be just a memory of regret.  
  
But now, as her fur-muffled footsteps receded into the hall behind them, and their own feet carried them resolutely forward, her soft, sad words echoed in their head like a door closing in their face.  
  
“ _When you leave… please do not come back.”_  
  
 _I should’ve known._  
  
A rhythm of self-recrimination pounded through Frisk’s pulse, and hot pain stung the backs of their eyes as they left the hope of safety and happiness behind. _I should have known it was too good to be true. Even she can’t forgive everything._  
  
 _I didn’t listen. I was bad._  
  
 _Of course she doesn’t want me back._  
  
The feeling of Toriel’s parting hug still lingered on their skin, and Frisk’s arms enclosed their narrow chest in an echo of the embrace. _That hug… it felt nice._  
  
 _I wonder if anyone will ever hug me again._  
  
The question unleashed a wave of pain that nearly pushed one of the unshed tears from their eyes, and Frisk’ teeth clenched as they forced it all down. _I need to be tough. I can’t cry. I’m not supposed to be weak and cry._  
  
A dark opening yawned before them, and as the child stepped through it, the lonely ache was shoved aside by a sudden bolt of fear.  
  
In the middle of the path ahead, a familiar circle of golden petals framed a bitter, condescending smile, and Frisk’s breath froze in their throat.  
  
“Clever. Verrrryyy clever,” Flowey drawled. “You think you’re really smart, don’t you?”  
  
One of Frisk’s feet slid backward in retreat, while the other refused to move away from its destination. “W-what? What do you mean?”  
  
The sour smile suddenly brightened into a familiar grin, and Flowey’s head rose higher on his stem, looming over the shrinking child. “Did you forget? In this world, _it’s kill or be killed_.”  
  
The words washed over them in a tide of dark memories, and Frisk’s hands tightened into fists as the image of three dead Vegetoids flared through their mind. “Not always,” they protested, and Flowey’s gaze strayed off to the side.  
  
“So you were able to play by your own rules.” His face suddenly warped, eerie white pupils flaring in the depths of pitch-black eyes, which stared out from a face that could’ve belonged to a goat monster’s skeleton. “You spared the life of a single person. Hee hee hee… But don’t act so cocky. _I know what you did._ ”  
  
As abruptly as it had appeared, the skeletal visage morphed into a twisted echo of Toriel’s face. “You murdered her. And then you went back, because you regretted it.”  
  
 _He knows?!_ “H-how… how did you…” The words died in their paralyzed throat, but their mind continued reeling. _I don’t get it; nobody remembers._ _No one_ _ever remembers…_  
  
The flower watched their expression for a moment, then burst into cruel laughter. “You naive idiot. Do you think you are the only one with that power? The power to reshape the world… purely by your own determination. The ability to play God! The ability to ‘save’.”  
  
The pieces started to crash into place, and Frisk’s pulse felt like it would suffocate them. “Y-you… you can remember, too? A-and you…”  
  
 _Oh, NO. Can he go back in time, too? Could he send me back over and over, to relive the same awful moments again and again?_  
  
“That’s right. I remember EVERYTHING. Hee hee hee… You know, I thought I was the only one with that power. But…” He broke eye contact again, as if the answer to his musing was written on the doorway through which Frisk had just come. “I can’t save anymore. Apparently YOUR desires for this world override MINE.”  
  
The words sent a mixture of triumph, relief and fear coursing through the young human. _So he can’t mess with time and trap me in a time loop. Thank_ _goodness_ _._  
  
 _But…_ “Are you mad at me about that? Is that why you attacked me?”  
  
For a moment, the flower just stared at them. Then he started laughing again, in a way that made Frisk wonder what they could do to make sure that they never made him laugh again. “Of course not. I had MUCH better reasons than that. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”  
  
“Can’t you-” For a second, Frisk thought about asking him to show them now. To give some explanation about why he’d tricked them and tried to murder them.  
  
But then they realized that could be taken as an invitation to try again, and clamped their mouth shut.  
  
From the way Flowey grinned, they suspected he had read their mind. “It’s a scary thought, isn’t it? Being killed. You’re afraid that if you push your luck, I’ll kill you, aren’t you?”  
  
Frisk’s jaw tightened, and that horrible grin grew wider. “Don’t worry, little monarch. You may have stolen my throne as the prince of this world’s future, but I’m not planning regicide. Watching your reign will be MUCH more interesting. Though when it comes to being killed… hee hee… do you remember those three Vegetoids?”  
  
Guilt plunged through Frisk’s stomach like a ten-pound rock, and the sight stretched Flowey’s smile to hideous proportions. “Do you think any of them had families? Do you think any of them had friends? Each one could have been someone else’s Toriel.”  
  
A whimper lodged itself behind Frisk’s trembling lips, and Flowey seemed to bask in their shame. “Selfish brat. Somebody is dead because of you.”  
  
 _But I… they… they were trying to kill me! Just like you-_ A flare of anger pushed back the guilt, and Frisk took a step forward, forcing their voice through a throat that threatened to choke it. “You aren’t one to talk! You tried to kill me!”  
  
“Oh?” His face tilted to the side, once again warping into a mockery of Toriel’s. “Are you somebody’s Toriel? Would anybody miss you if you were gone?”  
  
The words struck like a blow to their whole body, and Frisk stumbled backward, their breath faltering in their throat.  
  
“ _When you leave… please do not come back.”_  
  
The words assailed them in a gale of painful memory, and Flowey giggled. “That’s what I thought. Not that it probably matters. Even if nobody wants you to, you’ll keep coming back. Because that’s what creatures like us do.  
  
“Well well. Enjoy that power while you can. I’ll be watching.”


	9. Seeking the Source

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk leaves the Ruins, only to find that an ominous shadow is stalking... watching... judging them. Meanwhile, Sans tries to determine whether the human newcomer is the source of the anomaly, or just another victim who's been sucked into its web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? An update? After all these months?!
> 
> Yeah, I figured it was about time I buckled down and got this thing edited. Especially given that this is where Timeline 1 Frisk finally meets Sans, and begins my favorite relationship in this whole story!
> 
> Let's see what they think of each other when they first meet.

The moment the door to the Ruins opened, Sans knew he was about to regret making a promise.

The translucent glimmer of the newcomer’s stats slipped into view along with a hesitant foot, and the wary face that peered through the opening was marred by the numbers that floated beside it in the sentry’s prying vision.

_Level of Violence two. Eighteen Execution_ _P_ _oints._

_Bit young to be a murderer, aren’tcha, kid?_

The door was opening wider now, and as the young human emerged, Sans watched their every movement carefully.

Timid footsteps. Tense hands that hugged their body like a protective shield. Quick, nervous glances at the trees around them, as if any second something could jump out and kill them.

The movements of a terrified victim, not an aggressive predator.

The sight filled Sans with a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. On the one hand, not having to deal with a remorseless killer with a powerful soul was a good thing.

On the other, it meant the situation was a lot more complicated than he liked, and the odds of his search ending today were not looking good.

_Heh… part of me was hoping they’d look jaded. I’ve already scratched so many people off of my “maybe the source of the time anomaly” list, a new candidate would’ve made my day. But it looks like this is their first time around the mulberry bush – at least, as far as they know._

_And they’ve already killed a few people, probably in self-defense. The “self-defense” part makes it harder to justify killing them, but the “killed a few people” part makes it harder to justify leaving them alive so they can do it again._

_Heh._

A bitter memory reared its head, turning his indelible grin into its closest approximation of a wry smirk. _I say it as if any of this really matters. This timeline may have lasted longer than the others, but this isn’t the first time the anomaly has let things run longer than usual. Sooner or later, it always resets._

_And if this human isn’t the source of the_ _problem_ _, it probably doesn’t matter whether I kill them or not. We’re all coming back either way._

_So I guess I may as well have fun… with…_

_Wait._

_That face…_

Shock struck him like a firehose to the face, freezing his breath as the human’s glance strayed in his direction. Narrow eyes, rounded features, all washed in fear… and looking almost right at him.

_Did they notice me hiding here?_

A quick teleport moved him out of their view, and he narrowed his eyes, watching them with renewed intensity.

_It might have been a fluke, but for a second there, I thought they knew where I was going to be. As if they’d caught me there before._

_And also, that face…_

This was no longer fun and games. Yes, he would play games with them, but it would be no simple matter of killing irrelevant time.

_Maybe it won’t matter in the long run. But if it does, I want to know who you are, what you’re doing here, and if this really is your first time._

~*~*~*~

_I wonder if I could go back far enough._

Frozen powder crunched beneath Frisk’s feet as they stepped out of the Ruins, and as the door closed behind them with an ominous _BOOM_ , the icy air instantly started seeping through their clothes. Their arms pressed around their body, trying to fend off the cold, but their guilt and the flower’s cruel words were not so easily held at bay.

_Maybe I could_ _find a way through without killing_ _those Vegetoids_ _. But… I’ve already saved my progress after that fight, so it’s probably_ _too late_ _._

_I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to go through that again. But I feel so… so… UGH!_

Their fingers plunged into their sweater, digging angry folds in the fabric, and their clenched jaw felt like it was going to break their teeth.

_Why do I have to_ _feel this guilty?! It’s not like I started that fight. They killed me over and over, and wouldn’t stop no matter what I did. So they deserved it, didn’t they? They gave me no other choice._

Their feet nearly caught on a heavy branch, and they jolted into the air just in time to avoid tripping. A sharp gasp filled their lungs with cold, and they glanced around hastily, probing the trees for the gleam of watching eyes.

_Careful, Frisk! If a stick could catch me by surprise, so could a monster!_ _Toriel said the people out here would kill me – which isn’t really any different from the Ruins, but here they’ll also take my soul._

_I wonder what happens when my soul gets taken. What will they do with it? Will I be awake to-_

CRACK!

The child launched into the air, whipping around and brandishing the stick before their feet touched the ground. For a moment, they stood frozen and trembling, and their heart tried to escape through their throat as they stared at the place where the branch used to be.

It was broken. The solid, heavy length of wood, easily as durable as any of their limbs, had been shattered into fragments.

_What did that?! WHERE IS IT?!_ Their frantic eyes swept the trees, darting as fast as their mind could process, and their breathing shook as it picked up speed. _Whatever it is must be_ _HUGE_ _. And fast. There’s no way it should’ve been able to hide again_ _before I turned around_ _._

_Is it Asgore? Has he found me already?_

Their glance shot to the Ruins’ distant door, and for a second, they thought about trying to run. But Toriel had told them not to return, and she’d also said that door only opened one way.

They couldn’t go back.

There was nowhere to hide.

And even if there was, they’d never outrun a creature that fast.

_Maybe if I don’t move,_ _it_ _won’t_ _attack_ _me. Monsters didn’t usually come after me when I wasn’t moving; it was when I walked near them that they_ _started a fight_ _._

_But whatever it is is_ _closer to the Ruins_ _, so maybe if I keep_ _walking away, I won’t get close enough for it to notice me._

The child glanced over their shoulder at the seemingly empty path, their eyes sweeping nervously across the rows of trees that made it all too difficult to see whether or not they concealed a living form.

There was no sign of monsters anywhere, except for that one broken branch. With a pounding heart, Frisk forced their legs back into motion, constantly scanning the forest on each side, the deceptively empty path behind, and the road of unknown perils ahead.

A dark brown shape came into view, stretched across a deep gap in the snow, and Frisk squinted as they cautiously moved toward it. _Are those… pillars? With a flat board on top, and… a bridge between the pillars? OK… I’m not sure why there are pillars, but at least I won’t have to go into the woods to get across that hole._

_Who knows what might be hiding in the-_

CRUNCH.

The sound of a single footstep in the snow brought them whipping around again, and Frisk stared, confused, at the footprint that had appeared beside their own on the path behind them. _It’s like someone just appeared there,_ _put one foot down_ _, and disappeared._

_Did whatever it was teleport?_

_Oh, NO_ _. Now there are monsters that_ _TELEPORT_ _!?_

Their footsteps quickened, but even as the bridge drew nearer, they knew that no amount of speed would save them from an enemy who could pounce without taking a step.

_Will it go past the bridge? Will I be safe there? Or will even worse monsters be waiting for me?_

The bridge was a few feet away. The wood looked smooth, and Frisk slowed down, reluctant to run across the slick surface with snow-covered shoes.

The snow behind them crunched.

Frisk’s whole body froze. _If I don’t move, it’ll teleport away, right?_

Crunch. CRUNCH.

_It didn’t! It’s moving closer! No, no no no…_

Their heart thundered, a cacophony of motion in an unmoving cage, and their instincts’ screams to freeze or flee seemed to tear their mind in two.

_Should I run? No, that didn’t work – I can’t outrun it._

_If I don’t move, it won’t kill me, right? Monsters always wait their turn; they won’t attack if I don’t move._

_Unless teleporting monsters are different. Or ALL the monsters out here are different._ The thought twisted their heart into a choking knot, and their hands began to shake. _Do monsters outside the Ruins have different rules_ _? What if_ _they_ _attack no matter what, and then take your soul before you can go back to_ _when you saved_ _?_

_What if they don’t just kill you? What if they torture you first?_

The footsteps were almost close enough to touch, and their back tensed against the imminent pain that already felt inescapable. _Should I turn around? No, that might_ _count as my turn and make_ _it attack me. I don’t know what to do!_

“ _Human_.”

The footsteps stopped. No voice reached their ears, yet the word in their mind was as audible as their own startled gasp. _That isn’t the voice that was talking to me in the Ruins, but… it knows_ _I’m human._

_Toriel said all the humans who fall down here die._ _Is them being human why Asgore took their souls_ _?_

_There are so many things I should have asked about._

“ _Don’t you know…_ ” There was that voice again. “… _how to greet a new pal?_ ”

The flood of terror paused in their mind, and its edges started to trickle away. _A new pal? Are you… saying you want to be friends?_

_I’ve heard that before._

The fear returned in full force, alongside a rush of suspicion. _If it asks me to catch any pellets…_

“ _Turn around and shake my hand._ ”

_That…_ _probably won’t kill me? OK…_

With small, tense movements, Frisk turned to face the monster. As they did, surprise and confusion swept through them, and they found themselves staring blankly at his grinning face.

_A… skeleton?_ Their hand rose numbly to meet his, and their thoughts began to race. _How is that possible? He has no skin. And probably no muscles. How did he move his face to talk? How does he move at all? His head looks empty. How does he think?_

_I hope he’s not thinking about murder._

The skeleton’s hand closed around Frisk’s. His fingers were as hard as they’d expected, padded only by his fuzzy white mittens, yet his palm felt strangely soft against theirs.

For an instant, his grin widened. Then he squeezed.

~*~*~*~

There were many things Frisk had been expecting. Murder. Torture. Scolding. A lesson on the rules of this strange world, if they were exceptionally lucky.

A whining, wet, protracted fart had not been on the list.

The skeleton’s chuckle bubbled up in a throat that lacked every structure that should have been required for speech, and Frisk watched in bewilderment as he spoke, forming the words without lips and presumably without a tongue. “Heheh… the old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. It’s ALWAYS funny. Anyways, you’re a human, right?”

_I hope this isn’t the wrong answer. But judging by how he greeted me, I think he already knows._

Frisk nodded tentatively, and the skeleton glanced sideways, his smile rising to reach his eyes. “That’s hilarious.” His gaze returned to them, and he added, “I’m Sans. Sans the skeleton. I’m actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now. But… y’know… I don’t really care about capturing anybody.”

The breath that had frozen in Frisk’s lungs began to leak out, but they didn’t dare let their guard down fully.

For all they knew, he might still be planning to throw some friendliness pellets at them.

“Now, my brother, Papyrus,” Sans continued, “he’s a human-hunting FANATIC.”

_So_ _we ARE being hunted because we’re human._

_And Dash and I wanted to escape to this place._

“Hey, actually, I think that’s him over there.”

_CRAP!_ Panic slammed through their chest, and Frisk twisted around, their eyes darting as they followed Sans’ stare. In the distance, a tall, colorful figure was charging down the path, and the human’s heartbeat quickened as their gaze swept the area in search of an escape route.

As if seeing their alarm, Sans offered a solution. “I have an idea. Go through this gate thingy.”

Frisk turned to stare at him, baffled. Before they could ask why a person who was supposed to be on the lookout for humans would tell them how to avoid his own brother, he insisted, “Yeah, go right through. My bro made the bars too wide to stop anyone.”

Everything about the situation seemed suspicious, but faced with the imminent threat of a human-hunting fanatic who looked like he was at least a head taller than them, Frisk didn’t see many other options. With a one-way door behind them and a thick forest on either side, any attempt to retreat would find them trapped in a dead end.

As they raced across the bridge, Frisk heard Sans’ quick, light footsteps behind them, somehow managing to match their pace without sending his pink flip-flop slippers flying.

Papyrus was drawing closer, but he didn’t seem to have noticed them yet. Once they were across the bridge, Frisk pulled to a halt, not sure where they could go that a human-hunting fanatic wouldn’t think to look.

Behind them, Sans also paused. “Quick,” he instructed. “Behind that conveniently-shaped lamp.”

Frisk hastily complied, ducking behind the oddly-placed household decoration just as Papyrus came charging into the clearing. For a moment, they were certain they’d been seen; it didn’t seem possible that he hadn’t noticed them before they bolted from view. But to their relief, all of his attention was fixed on his brother.

“Sup, bro?” Sans greeted the taller skeleton, and Frisk peered cautiously around the edge of the lamp as Papyrus glared at their benefactor.

“You know what ‘sup’, brother! It’s been eight days and you still haven’t… Recalibrated. YOUR. PUZZLES! You just hang around outside your station! What are you even doing?!?”

“Staring at this lamp. It’s really cool. Do you wanna look?”

_I KNEW IT!_ Frisk’s body froze, and their mind raced. _I wanted to believe he was a good person, but I KNEW he was lying about helping me!_ _This is_ _just another ‘friendliness pellets’ thing – he was setting me up to get caught by his brother!_

_Damn it, damn it, where can I hide that_ _they_ _won’t see me running to?!_

“NO!” Papyrus’ voice rang through the clearing like a gunshot, and Frisk flinched, their eyes widening as they watched the angry skeleton.

To their surprise, instead of inspecting their hiding place, he turned his back on them, stomping and pumping his fists like an angry toddler. “I don’t have time for that! What if a human comes through here!?! I want to be ready!!! I will be the one! I MUST be the one! I will capture a human!”

As suddenly as it began, the tantrum stopped. Papyrus’ face and voice brightened as he spun to face Sans, and he struck a dashing pose, with one hand resting on his chest while the other curled into a determined fist at his hip.

As if to enhance the grandiose display, a light wind began to blow, picking up his scarf and waving it dramatically as he continued, “Then I, the great Papyrus, will get all the things I utterly deserve! Respect… recognition… I will finally be able to join the Royal Guard! People will ask… to… be my… ‘friend?’”

_That tone…_ With a single sentence, the situation had been painted in a new light. The way Papyrus’ voice faltered, the uncertainty in his inflections…

_I know that tone. That’s_ _how people talk when they_ _to believe_ _what they’re saying, but can’t_ _._

_Like how I wanted to believe that Sans wanted to help me._

_If Papyrus is as lonely as me, then I wonder if-_

“I will bathe in a shower of kisses every morning,” the skeleton continued, cutting off their thoughts and smothering their hope in a shower of bafflement.

_Do monsters kiss each other all over when they’re friends? Or do they have a way to actually put kisses in the shower?_

_At this point, neither would surprise me._

“Hmm,” Sans mused, and Frisk tensed, silently urging him to not to bring up their hiding place again. “Maybe this lamp will help you.”

_No, stop it! I know you’re trying to help your brother make friends, but is it really worth my life?_ _Is my life… worth less than him making friends?_

_Is it worth anything to anyone out here?_

“Sans!!” Papyrus shouted, turning his back on them again. “You are not helping!! You lazybones!!”

_Or maybe… he_ is _helping?_ A timid ray of hope shone through the fog, and the sting of betrayal faded. _Every time_ _it_ _seems like_ _Sans is_ _trying to draw his_ _attention to me, Papyrus ignores me even more._

_Is_ _Sans_ _trying to get me caught, or trying to keep me from getting caught? I wish I could tell._

_I have no idea how to feel right now._

“All you do is sit and boondoggle,” Papyrus yelled, and Frisk’s throat tightened. “You get lazier and lazier every day!!!”

_Oh, no._ As their fear of immediate capture shrank, a new dread found room to grow in their mind. _He’s really mad at Sans. Is Sans about to be punished for not doing his chores?_

“Hey, take it easy,” the smaller skeleton protested, in a tone that sounded strangely like he was more amused than upset. “I’ve gotten a ton of work done today.” He winked. “A skele-ton.”

“SANS!!!”

“Come on. You’re smiling.”

“I am and I hate it,” Papyrus complained, glaring with his eyes but unable to suppress the smile that tugged at his mouth. A deep sigh swept slowly through his hollow rib cage, and the grin melted into melancholy confusion. “Why does someone as great as me have to do so much just to get some recognition?”

“Wow, sounds like you’re really working yourself down to the bone,” Sans observed, and Frisk simultaneously smirked and cringed while irritation flashed across Papyrus’ face.

“UGH! I will attend to my puzzles,” he growled, then his expression softened into something more like resignation. “As for your work? Put a little more… ‘backbone’ into it!!!! Nyehehehehehehehehehehehe!”

With that, he trotted off, returning just long enough to deliver a final “Heh!” before disappearing down the snowy path ahead.

As his brother vanished from sight, Sans glanced toward the lamp. “OK, you can come out now.”

Frisk slipped out of their hiding place, glancing cautiously down the path to make sure Papyrus wasn’t coming back for another “heh.” As if reading their mind, Sans pointed out, “You oughta get going. He might come back. And if he does…” He winked. “You’ll have to sit through more of my hilarious jokes.”

Despite their lingering concern, the child felt some of the tension draining from their shoulders. _It’s nice to be around someone who_ _doesn’t seem_ _to care that I’m human_ _. I wish more monsters felt that way._

_I’m not sure why he kept pointing out the lamp, but if he wanted me caught, he would have just gone over and pushed me out, or left me in the open, right?_

_Or is that just me falling for friendliness pellets again?_

They’d hesitated too long, and Sans was looking at them with a glint of curiosity in his eye socket. “What’s the holdup?” he asked. “Look, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of.”

For half a second, Frisk relaxed a bit more. And then…

“It’s just a dark cavern full of skeletons and horrible monsters.”

Well, that didn’t help. The child’s shoulders slumped. “Are they really that horrible?” they asked quietly, and Sans shrugged.

“Just a few of them.” He winked again. “The rest are merely terrible.” Seeing the look on their face, he added, “Ah, lighten up. I’m just kiddin’ with ya. Just keep hiding behind randomly-placed conveniently-shaped household items, and you’ll be fine.”

“O…OK.”

~*~*~*~

As the human child began to slip away, Sans watched their furtive, anxious movements and the numbers that floated above their head. The kid could be dangerous – their stats made that clear. But the way they were slinking down the path, like a beaten puppy trapped in a house with its tormentor… it made the magic in his rib cage twist.

_That isn’t the body language of someone who’s hunting for someone to kill. It’s the look of someone who’s been hunted long enough to start biting back._

_Maybe keeping them away from Papyrus isn’t the best idea._ _Those two_ _might be good for each other._

_Who knows – maybe he can change their mind about monsters, and make things safer for everyone._ “Actually, hey…”

They jerked to a halt and glanced at him, with the speed of someone who didn’t dare ignore a person who was speaking. Their face held a mixture of worry and hope, like they were clinging to the chance that his next words would be friendly, but afraid to risk expecting it.

_They really do_ _look like a scared, lonely kid. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given that they’ve been sentenced to be executed without a trial._

_I should probably word this gently._

“Hate to bother ya, but can you do me a favor?”

They turned to face him more fully, with a quick glance over their shoulder to see if Papyrus was coming back. “Um… OK?”

“I was thinking… my brother’s been kind of down lately…” They nodded, as if they’d noticed the pain beneath the grandstanding, and the sight encouraged Sans.

_So they’ve still got enough tenderness in them to notice when someone else is hurting. And,_ _judging by_ _their expression, to care at least a bit, even if he is a human-hunting fanatic._

_That’s a good sign. Cold comfort for the people they killed, but at least there’s hope for the other monsters they run into._

“He’s never seen a human before,” he continued, watching as a flash of trepidation swept across the human’s face, “and seeing you might just make his day.”

The child glanced nervously at Papyrus’ retreating footprints, then turned their face back to Sans. “But you said he wants to hunt me.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry – he’s not dangerous. Even if he tries to be.”

The human still looked unconvinced, but Sans could see that half-buried glow of compassion straining against their fear. “OK,” they finally acquiesced, their tone uncertain, but their shoulders tense with resolve. “But if he tries to capture me, I’ll have to hide behind a lamp again.”

Trust the world’s sense of irony to create a being who was both lethally dangerous and amusingly naive. _They really are still a child._ “OK. Thanks a million. I’ll be up ahead.”

~*~*~*~

Frisk was starting to conclude that at least some of the monsters in this dark cavern really were that horrible.

Snowdrake was a terrible comedian. What kind of performer didn’t know that murdering his audience wasn’t funny?

Ice Cap was bewildering. They still weren’t sure what combination of actions made the egotist leave them alone; they’d resorted to alternately complimenting and ignoring it until it went away.

Doggo, at least, had been straightforward. He’d told them what to do, and they’d done it, and they hadn’t gotten hurt. They wished more monsters had been like that.

And Sans and Papyrus… even now, as they sank into a snow poff with a giant dog monster on top of them, Frisk still wasn’t sure what to think of the skeleton brothers.

Papyrus was loud, tall and assertive – not a combination life had taught them to be comfortable around. But he was also goofy, airheaded, reflexively friendly despite his own intentions, and – true to Sans’ claim – had thus far proven harmless.

Like a big, noisy, scary puppy who was trying to chew on their legs, but couldn’t seem to resist nuzzling them instead.

And then, on the other end of the spectrum, there was Sans.

Where Papyrus was dauntingly tall and angular, Sans was reassuringly short, round and unimposing. While Papyrus was easily provoked into yelling, and it seemed like a miracle that his light-switch anger hadn’t escalated into violence, Sans was unflappably quiet and casual.

Papyrus had expressed an intention to capture them, but seemed incapable of making a plan that would actually result in that outcome. Sans had claimed that he had no desire to catch them, and yet…

And yet he’d made a show of vanishing and reappearing, his skeletal body could exert enough force to shatter a stick as thick as Frisk’s arm, and the human had little doubt that if his ambition had matched his brother’s, he could have easily accomplished what Papyrus had thus far failed to attempt.

One was big, loud and imposing, but seemed incapable of being a real threat. The other was small, quiet and superficially reassuring, but Frisk strongly suspected that he was the more powerful of the two.

And he was watching them.

Every time they completed a puzzle, they could feel his glowing pupils staring at them. Watching, evaluating, _judging_.

When they solved the puzzle that was supposed to look like Papyrus’ smile, only to die and be forced to do it over, he’d instantly noticed the speed with which they accomplished the task, and the way he commented on it didn’t make it sound like he really believed they were that good at puzzles.

And always, _always_ , they got the feeling that he knew something he wasn’t saying. Like he saw everything they wanted to hide, and was keeping an eye on them.

But he hadn’t hurt them.

He’d joked with them. Given them advice. Acted like the two of them were casual acquaintances, or maybe even friends.

Sometimes, when they were talking with him, and he spoke of his clearly fictitious business ambitions or gossiped about his brother’s more comical traits, Frisk was almost able to forget that they were a human in a world full of monsters that wanted to kill them.

It felt… good. Like an echo of the safe, normal life other people theoretically had, but they’d only ever dreamed of experiencing.

A large, fuzzy, metal-clad weight stirred on their legs, jolting them back to the present moment. On their lap, Greater Dog squirmed and whined, and Frisk yanked their arm out from under the monster’s armored bulk, firmly petting its silky head in an effort to appease it.

_I wonder if it knows it was hurting me. Dogamy and Dogaressa seemed to know._

_I wonder if I should have killed them._

They’d seriously considered it. Even after coming to the mistaken conclusion that Frisk was a little puppy, the dogi had assailed them mercilessly, flinging hearts and swinging axes toward their vulnerable soul.

And even as they’d walked away from that fight, leaving the canines with their minds newly opened to the potential of dogs petting dogs, Frisk’s steps had been slowed by the fear that they’d just left a pair of merciless puppy-killers loose in the underground.

_Is some poor puppy going to lose its brother because of me?_

Greater Dog twisted in their lap, flopping over with its legs dangling in the air, and Frisk absentmindedly scratched its chin, wishing the armor wasn’t blocking their access to its soft, fluffy belly.

_I probably should have killed those two. But what if they and Sans were friends?_

_I can’t do that to someone who’s nice enough to be my friend, even if he is a little scary sometimes._

_At least… I hope we’re actually friends._

The events of an all-too-recent battle tumbled through their mind like burning coals, and Frisk’s teeth pressed into their lip as their fingers tightened in Greater Dog’s fur. _Sans seems nice, but… he_ _just stood there and watched_ _us fight_ _. I thought Gyftrot was going to kill me – it came so close._

_And he just stood there and watched._

_Would he have let me die?_

The thought sent a tremor through Frisk’s breath, and their teeth sank deeper into their lip. _Toriel wouldn’t have let that happen. But she isn’t here, because I didn’t listen and I left._

_But_ would _she have let it happen, if she knew what I did?_

Their stomach twisted, and for a moment, Frisk wondered if they were about to puke on the dog that was half-asleep on their lap. With a straining swallow, they forced the sick feeling down, and their hands began to shake.

_I wonder if Sans knows. Maybe that’s why he’s watching me so closely._

_But if he knew, why would he make friends with me? Wouldn’t that make him want to kill me? Isn’t it a sentry’s job to stop people who kill people?_

_No wonder he didn’t want to help me. Except that… he did._ _With the lamp, and when he gave me that hint about b_ _lue stop signs._

_I’m so confused._

Their breath was starting to shake audibly, guilt and loneliness combining with cold to send tremors shuddering through their whole body. A tear fell onto Greater Dog’s nose, startling the monster from its doze, and a soft whine leaked from its muzzle as it scrambled out of its armor.

_Oh no, I woke it up, what’s it going to-_

A warm, wet tongue slid across Frisk’s cheek, lapping a tear from their face, and a fuzzy paw nestled gently on their leg. Big, worried eyes stared into theirs, and this time, there was no mistaking the meaning of its whine.

_It cares about me._ The thought swelled in their chest, followed by a trembling sob, and they buried their hands in the monster’s fur, pulling it into a desperate hug. _I don’t have to wonder or guess this time. Even if it wanted to kill me before, right now, I’m sure it cares._

The dog whimpered sympathetically, craning its head to lick the child’s cheeks faster than the tears could fall. Frisk buried their face in its neck, hugging it even harder as the sobs built into deep, ragged gasps.

The canine leaned into the embrace, and its affection fell like rain on desperately parched soil, spilling over in more and more tears until Frisk felt like there was nothing left to squeeze out. At last, with a deep, shaky breath, they set their hands in the snow and pushed themselves unsteadily to their feet.

“Thanks,” they said, giving their comforter a few last strokes on the head. “I needed that.”

The dog barked softly, gave their nose two parting licks, and then leaped into its abandoned suit of armor, somehow managing to pilot the outfit away with its rear end sticking out where its head should have been.

The sight drew a small giggle from Frisk, an unexpected bit of mirth at the end of the emotional storm. As they started to move in the canine’s wake, their spirits rose a bit.

_Maybe the monsters here aren’t that bad. At least, not all of them._

_They may not be as nice as Toriel, but if they’re at least as nice as Sans, Papyrus and that dog, I think I can make it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully no one's too disappointed that I skimmed over some of the Skelebro/Frisk interactions. This fic is already 129,515 words long, and that’s with some parts just OUTLINED, not written. If I write every scene in full detail, we’ll never see the end of this. >_<
> 
> But going light on some scenes means I have more room and time to dive deep into the ones that really matter, like a warrior-scientist getting his first look at a child who might be a space-time anomaly. :)
> 
> The next chapter is 7,475 words long right now and needs to be edited, but when it's done you'll get to see Papyrus' boss fight and Sans taking Frisk to Grillby's.
> 
> For those who have stuck with me through this long hiatus, thanks - I hope the chapter is worth the wait!


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